


Rounding Third (Heading For Home)

by speakingofalice



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Baseball Alternate Universe, Bullying, Explicit Language, Fighting, Homophobia, Hurt Jim, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Cheating, MLB, Major League Baseball - Freeform, Mentions of neglect, Minor Character Death, Multi, Smoking, crew as a team, mentions of abuse, team as a family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2018-10-29 20:00:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10861038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speakingofalice/pseuds/speakingofalice
Summary: He was the son of a dead hero. He was a cheat. He was an insult to the game. He would never make it in the Majors. He should just give up... but giving up was never his strong suite.Baseball was never just a game for Jim Kirk. It was his life.





	1. Welcome to the Majors

**Author's Note:**

> I've sat on this for a long time too scared to post it then too scared to post anything. But, here we go. Want some Baseball AU? Well now ya got it. Let me know what you think and also please don't correct me on any wrong MBL terms/rules/conditions/ect. I tried to do research but I probably got stuff wrong. For the purpose of this story suspend reality and substitute your own.

_Twenty-one years ago..._

The sky was dark, the sun having set an hour previously. High up in the atmosphere stars burned brightly. From the stadium they were dimmed as the bright lights that lit up the field spread for blocks around the field. Fans cheered and ran into each other equal parts rowdy and excited. Some scuffed at their fellow fan trying to walk briskly towards the parking garages ignoring the cheers and bellows of victory from the opposing team’s fans. The night was cool with a slightly cold breeze blowing through the rapidly emptying stadium. Even as the stadium emptied the atmosphere of the city stayed high as fireworks exploded from the capital building and people ran through the streets of San Francisco screaming, jumping and cheering. Parts of the streets had already been closed down by police as thousands upon thousands of partially drunk people took to the street in celebration.

And they should be celebrating. For the first time ever the Kelvin Baseball Association had won the American League Championship against Romulus. They were going to the World Series and George Kirk, rookie pitcher and just announced Rookie of the Year, was going to lead them to the World Championships.

George was one of the best pitchers to play in the Major Leagues and the irony was that he was only put in as a backup for Richard Robau who had torn his shoulder half way through their regular season. George was the breakout star that had turned from a nobody pitcher to a household name in a matter of months as he got the chance to show San Francisco and the world the things he could do with a baseball.

George Kirk was a good baseball player and given time he would've been a great player. However, as life sometimes goes, he would never get the chance.

A three year old little boy with big bright blue eyes and blond hair ran on tiny chubby legs through the bowls of the stadium. He weaved through the clubhouse hallways breathing loudly and running as fast as his little legs could take him trying to get to the clubhouse's locker room where he knew his daddy would be waiting for him. He always wanted to see him after a game. He would pick him up and throw him around and everyone else would laugh and the little boy would squeal loudly with joy.

"Jimmy!" The little boy stopped as he reached the door to the locker room and waited as his mom walked up to him. Jimmy bounced on his toes as he waited for the door to open. After all, it wasn’t like he was big enough to reach the door handle.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy," Jimmy sang as his mom opened the door and he ran in knowing exactly where his Daddy sat. He always sat in the same place.

Jimmy saw his daddy and pumped his arms faster before plowing into him at full speed.

"Hey Jimmy!" George laughed while Jimmy giggled in his arms. Winona came over to her two boys with a smile on her face. The other players continued on with their own celebrations already used to seeing the beautiful woman and cute little boy in their clubhouse.

"Daddy! Sticky!" Jimmy laughed touching his father’s face. The floor was also sticky with the champaign the players had already sprayed at each other. George blew a raspberry into Jimmy's cheek making him squeak and forget about his sticky daddy. George bent over pressing a sweet kiss into Winona’s smiling cheek.

"Congratulations Rookie of the Year," Winona’s eyes danced with mirth while George shook his head and rolled his eyes at her.

"Daddy? Wha-what is a Wookie?"

"Rookie, baby," Winona gently corrected still standing beside her husband who held Jimmy close even though he smelled of sweat and dirt. "With an _R_."

Jimmy tried to get his small mouth around the letter. "R... R... wook... wrook..."

"That's okay big guy," George soothed as Jimmy's brow furrowed in frustration. His bottom lip started to tremble as he failed to get the _R_ to work. George blew another raspberry into Jimmy's cheek. "Hey, buddy don't cry! Guess what? I've got something for you."

Jimmy's face lit up, "Pwesent?"

"Yeah," George smiled setting his son on his chair. As if out of nowhere George flashed a baseball in front of his little boy whose eyes lit up and mouth shaped itself into a happy baby-toothed smile.

"Ball!"

"You're right." George began becoming serious. Jimmy sensed his daddy's change and leaned in to listen to him as intently as an excited three year old could. George held the ball up in front of Jimmy's eyes settling himself down on one knee. "This is the game ball, the one I used to end the inning for the win and I want you to have it. Do you want it?"

"Yesssss!" Jimmy cheered making grabby hands at the ball.

"Okay, okay, okay," George laughed making sure his son didnt fall from the chair. "I want you to promise me you'll take care of this ball though, okay? It means a lot to me." George got closer to his son. "It was lucky for me and if you treat it well then it could be lucky for you too."

George handed the scuffed up ball over to his son who stared at it in wonder whispering, "lucky ball." Jimmy held the ball in his chubby hands gingerly for a minute before looking back up at his smiling father. "Name," he demanded holding the ball back. George laughed.

"You want me to sign it?"

"Sign!" Jimmy demands again very seriously. Or as seriously as his cherub cheeks could allow. George laughed shaking his head and standing back up to grab a pen from the top of his cubby. He signs his name with Jimmy's eyes staring at him the whole time then hands it back to his waiting little boy.

"There you go, love."

"Love you daddy," Jim opened his arms for a hug that George complies with quickly engulfing him in a bear hug so tight the Jimmy squirms in delight.

After a few more minutes Jimmy starts to yawn and George kisses Winona's cheek telling her to head on out to the front of the stadium and he would be out soon. Winona nods taking Jimmy from George and hiking him up on her hip. Jimmy's eyes start to droop as he leans into his mom clutching his ball close.

"Nighty night Jimmy. I'll see you soon." George whispers kissing his forehead lightly. “How about some of your famous chicken parm for dinner, Win?” George smirks at her. Winona rolled her eyes in exaggeration.

“The champ gets what the champ wants, I suppose.”

“Love you Winnie.”

“Love you too,” they give eachother a quick kiss as Jimmy opens his eyes.

"Bye Daddy," He yawns already falling asleep. Together Winona with her son clutched tight in her arms walk out of the clubhouse and into the open air.

Within the next twenty minutes many things would happen.

George Kirk, bag hiked over his shoulder, freshly showered and small grin across his face would leave the clubhouse and take five steps into the open air before three gunshots would pop off. One would glide into his forehead killing him instantly while the other whizzed into his chest and the third ricocheted off just to the left of him. He would fall, dead before he hit the ground.

Winona, hearing the gun shots would think nothing of them as she waited with her slumbering son in her shoulder. The other wives spoke amongst themselves laughing and feeling the elation of the entire city. It wouldn't be until eight minutes after the gunshots that people would start screaming. Winona’s phone would ring loudly in her pocket.

In the weeks that followed the entire city mourned feeling the loss as one. The Kevin Baseball Association went to the World Series and lost in the fourth game. The players had tried to rally behind the tragedy but they would not be able to pull off a single win.

The murder investigation lasted months with many believing it to be a Romulan fan who pulled the trigger but there was never any evidence and eventually everything was closed as the evidence ran cold.

The _Kelvin_ team might've been a great one with George Kirk at the helm but without him there was just no spark. The next season saw the team not being able to make it to the playoffs and after that players started demanding their contracts changed to allow them to be transferred. The following year they finished dead last. In the middle of the third season that turned into a flop people started claiming the stadium was haunted. Fans stopped coming, players refused to accept offers to play for the team, everything was going wrong. The Kelvin Board of Directors decided to move the team out of San Francisco, change the name, shut down the stadium, and pretend that this disastrous baseball team never happened. Cochran Stadium was to be bulldozed and moved to someplace without so many dark memories. Without blood stains still splattered on the clubhouse doors that some still swore they could still see.

It wouldn't be until years later that the new stadium would be built and a new owner would buy the team and bring them back to the foggy city.

More years would go buy before the team would be officially named _Enterprise_ and a new, relatively unknown young man who used to be a doctor would buy the team and rename the stadium _Joanna’s Field_.

One season later James T. Kirk would be brought up from the minors with a chip on his shoulder and a lot to prove.

And that is where the story begins…

* * *

_Present Day..._

"Hey batter batter batter!"

"Hey batter?" Jim questioned standing up from beside the plate. "Really, Pav?"

"What?" The Russian man questioned also standing up from his pitching position and placing his hands on his hips, ball held loose in his right hand. "Eet ees what I saw on the television. Eweryone says eet!"

A warm summer breeze blew Jim's short hair to the side and billowed out his t-shirt comfortably. The bright stadium lights above his head shined down making the field look crisp, as if this was the middle of the day. No bugs annoyed near his face or bit at his tanned skin like earlier in the day. The sweat that had slicked his body from the stuffy locker room was now cool making him shiver. It was a good shiver as another gust of wind kicked up loose dirt. The manicured field was wet after the grounds keepers misted it to keep the one and a quarter inch grass up to official standards. Everything looked so bright and new even though the stadium was sputtering into its tenth year and some of the lights that towered above their heads had been blown out since last season. If Jim concentrated hard enough he could smell the salty tang of popcorn and hotdogs that had been made for the game earlier. Some cleaners and workers still stalked among the rows of seats with their trash collectors in either hand collecting anything that hadn't been cleaned during their first sweep. Jim wasn't even sure he and Pavel were allowed to be out on the field but he mentally shrugged, it would be his field soon enough.

"Just please don't say that in a game," Jim laughed swinging his bat from one hand to the other lazily. His practiced hands deftly caught the bat before throwing it back in the air again. Pavel looked shocked holding his hand to his chest and gripping the ball with the other.

"Vat do you mean I cannot mock za other team? It eez the reason I am so good! In Russian we are allowed to curse za other players. Ve put hexes on zem. Wery useful if they are a good team."

"You are not!" Jim yelled, laughter bubbling up his chest. According to Pavel everything was either better or invented in Russia. Jim wasn't even sure they played baseball in the Mother Country but he wasn't about to question the younger man, they'd been friends far too long for Jim not to have learned the first five times that a question about Russia turned into a sermon.

"You cannot hear me but I whisper to za batter when he lines up," Pavel giggled, eyes crinkling and his cheeks creating dimples. "You are not as good a pitcher as you sink, Jim. I distract za batters and zat is why you get so many strikes. You’re velcome."

Another gust of wind blew into Jim's face and he closed his eyes feeling it and hearing Pavel’s laugh. The wind smelled of summer and popcorn and while it didn't smell as clean as the Iowan air it still felt nice. San Francisco didn't smell as good as Iowa but was a lot better than New York or Chicago, all the places Jim had played before. Jim looked down at the white plate between his black Chucks and smiled. Tomorrow he'd be practicing here and in a few weeks even playing. It was a far cry from where he'd started on his little league t-ball team that he had to beg his mother to sign the permission slip for.

"Jim!" Was his only warning as the ball Pavel had been holding came for his head. Jim looked up at the last moment snatching it from the air hearing a slap and feeling a slight sting that was almost as normal for him as buttoning his jeans. Pavel, looking not an ounce guilty, walked over to him feeling and listening to the grass crunch under his tennis shoes. "I know. I am excited also."

"We did it, Pav." Jim threw his head up swinging his arms out feeling elated joy free up his chest to take in a lungful of air. He wanted to whoop and holler just as he'd done when he'd gotten the call that he was being brought up to the majors but there were still a smattering of people about. He liked being the center of attention but at the moment he just wanted to box up this happiness to store later for a rainy day. "Want to take a lap?"

Pavel's eyes brightened, "Da, that ees good idea!" Jim hopped throwing his bat into the vicinity of the dugout as he and Pavel took off smiling to each other feeding off the energy that had been building since they'd relieved their calls and had been magnified when they'd entered the stadium.

"Hey!" A gruff voice yelled when they rounded third and heading for home plate. Jim looked up seeing a good looking man in nice casual clothing standing beside the away team dugout. He slowed his jog, Pavel mirroring him. "What are ya doin'?"

Jim's heart started beating faster in his chest but he bit back any panic and plastered an easy grin on his face.

"Hi there," Pavel started. "We're-"

"No one’s allowed on the field after a game," Gruff-Man cut him off. Wind blew his hair making the strands stand up on end. "Only players allowed."

The knot that had formed in Jim's chest loosened a bit. "We are players."

"I ain't seen ya before," the man sounded more annoyed than angry though his face gave nothing away. The twang in his voice told Jim he wasn't from San Francisco, or had been in the south for a while before coming here.

Pavel spoke up, his accent thick like it got when he was nervous. "Ve are za new players. I am Pavel Chekov and dis ees Jim Kirk. Ve vere traded from Iowa."

The man who Jim noticed wasn't actually that old looked over at him seeming to asses him up and down before speaking.

"You're Jim Kirk?" He questioned almost in disbelief. Rude, Jim thought already not liking him very much.

"That's what they tell me," Jim placed his hands on his hips cocking his head to the side. He knew it made him look cocky.

Gruff-Man smirked at Jim. "You're the asshole that got into that fight in Iowa City. The one they say thinks he's too big for the minors so he throws at batters. You’re a cheater."

A block fell in Jim's stomach. He couldn't get away from his reputation no matter how hard or how far he ran. He wanted to correct the strangely handsome, completely rude man but it wouldn't be worth it. He'd stopped defending himself a long time ago. His words meant nothing when people were already set in their opinions. Instead of saying what he really wanted to he just shrugged, "Depends."

"On what?"

"On if you're stupid enough to listen to the papers."

"Ve are practicing tomorrow. Ve came to see za game tonight. Eet vas good. Good win." Pavel interrupted putting his hand on Jim's shoulder squeezing the way he knew would calm the blonde haired man.

The older man crossed his arms looking around the large field and thousands of seats that surround it. "Yeah well, _Enterprise_ usually does well."

"Who are you?" It was a little rude and full of bad taste but if this guy was stupid enough to listen to the rumors about him then Jim was going to give them some false credit. The man's eyebrows made their way up his forehead like he was surprised they hadn't recognized him or something.

"Leonard McCoy." That name sounded familiar but Jim couldn't put his tongue on why and honestly didn’t really care. The man gave a slight pause then continued. "I own the stadium and the team here."

Shit.

" _Shit_ ," Jim whispered the same time as Pavel cursed in Russian. This guy owned the fucking team they were going to play for and Jim hadn't made the best of first impressions.

"Eet is good to meet you, sir," Pavel squeaked. Jim wanted to roll his eyes. Leonard's lip twitched 

"What positions?"

"Pitcher," He answered the same time Pavel said, "Catcher." Jim figured Leonard already knew their positions, he was the owner for fuckssake. Leonardo looked at the two with disdain. "You don't look much like a catcher. Little scrawny, don't ya think?"

"We're professionals." Pavel implored.

Leonard pursed his lips tilting his head, "You're wearing tennis shoes and Chucks."

Biting his lip Jim looked down at his dusty shoes then back up, "Semi-professionals?"

This time the man actually did give a slight chuckle. It was only a second before he was back to a neutral face but it was there and it had sounded... not cute, not like bells but something very close. They were all quiet for a moment as Leonard regarded Jim once more. A tingle in Jim's chest made him look away sniffing and swiping at his nose just for something to do.

"Well," Leonard began clearing his throat. Above them a bracket of lights went off darkening half the stadium. "Practice starts early tomorrow, you should get on home. The field is supposed to be closed." He was still gruff but not as much as before. Leonard turned on his heal and was gone up the steps and disappearing around the corner.

"What a weird guy," Jim said just to say something as they gathered their things.

"I like him!" Pavel had a big grin on his face as he reached down grabbing a handful of dirt and stuffing it in his pocket.

“A Russian tradition,” he claimed.

* * *

Leonard was right, morning practice did come quickly. Jim hustled into the clubhouse locker room with only five minutes before their official roll call. He'd wanted to be earlier but hadn't planned on traffic being so heavy at such an early hour. The fog was thick in the lower regions of San Fran making traffic even slower and the air stuffy where it had been pleasant only last night.

"Jim Kirk," he told the security guard at the gate flashing his ID card. The elderly man waved him through and Jim hiked his bag up on his shoulder as he passed. The walk down the small hallway and into the locker room made butterfly's flutter in his stomach. He took a breath pushing open the door and forcing his mouth to take on a cocky smile. The door swung open easily and the sound of chattering men filled his ears. They kept talking as Jim entered not paying much mind.

The locker room was nothing like his high school smelly show box and even better than the one he'd shared in the minors. It was large and clean with everyone's uniforms, cleats and other essentials collected in their individual open cubbies with their names written in neat script. Everything was so white and blue and pristine. So bright with the _Enterprises_ logo printed on everything that Jim had to hold back his toothy smile. Players sat or stood about some playing on their phones while others watched tv from the flat screens above or played video games from the televisions on the other side. To Jim's right five or so players already dressed in their dry-fit practice uniforms were playing a game of cards. It was laid back, Jim even saw someone picking at a guitar off to the side. Each man had their own devices to keep them busy before practice time so it didn't get too boring. Jim knew the whole hurry up and wait routine that happened before games and practices. When he was in the minors he had been known to bring along his guitar and strum a few bars for his teammate’s enjoyment. The music that played through the speakers wasn't anything too peppy or head banging, just right to be nice to listen to. Some catchy song that he bet he would be humming to when they'd send him out to the field to shag balls after the pitchers stretch no doubt.

"James Kirk?" A calm neutral voice startled Jim from his thoughts. He turned his head seeing a tall man with shiny, bowl cut shaped hair and upswept eyebrows. Spock, Jim recognized him from not only the roster but from watching him on TV.

"Jim," Jim clarified holding out his hand. Spock stared at it doing nothing and Jim slowly retracted the offered hand when it wasn't taken after a few seconds. "Okay..."

"My apologies, I do not enjoy touching others. I am Spock, team captain. I also play first base and at times outfield. Follow me." He turned and was gone before Jim could say another word. He scurried after him aware of some the looks he was garnering.

Spock led him to a cubical that had James T. Kirk written above it. Jim couldn't believe it. His name looked back at him as he gazed up. A white jersey was hung with Kirk facing outwards and the number seventeen below in blue writing. Two pairs of white cleats where shined in the bottom of the cubby with another pair of black ones set off to the side. White with blue striped pants and socks were folded over many hangers so that there was no creases. This was his, all his. With his name and everything. He couldn't believe it. Jim set his bag down hearing his lucky ball he always carried rustle around as it hit the wooden bottom of the cubby. A leather chair was sat in front of the space just as there was all around the room for each player. It looked comfortable. Jim practically vibrated with eagerness to get out on the field.

"Christopher Pike will be with your shortly," was all Spock said before he was off walking away, Jim didn't even get the chance to say thank you.

"Don't mind him, he can be an ass." There was a man beside Jim's space sitting in a chair tossing a scuffed ball between his hands. He wore white spandex and his practice jersey with long socks but no pants just yet. He leaned forward holding out his hand even though Jim already recognized him. "Hikaru Sulu but please just call me Sulu. Short Stop."

Their shook hands and Jim took a breath. "He always that..." Jim stiffened appearing like he had a stick up his ass. Sulu laughed sitting back.

"Yeah and today is a good day."

Together they laughed. Jim looked away opening his bag to take out his glove and a few other things he's brought along. They'd said they would provide him with a new glove but he liked his old one. It molded to his hand just right being tight in the good places and loose in the other. He wished he could use his own bat but they were stingy about those things, official equipment regulations and all that useless shit.

"Woah," Sulu stood from his seat. "Is that signed by George Kirk?" He pointed to the ball Jim had in his hands. He smiled holding it out to the Asian man who took it like it was some precious thing. Which it was, to Jim.

"Yeah, " Jim wondered if Sulu didn’t recognize him. He decided to play along. "You liked him?"

"He's only the best pitchers of like, all time! I read tons of stuff on him, people said he would’ve been the next Great. Shit, he never signed anything how the hell do you have this?"

"Connections," Jim winked to cover up his vague answer. Sulu sat down still looking at the ball. "Hey Scotty! Come check this out man."

With his call a man clambered his way towards Jim's little cubby. He knew Montgomery Scott as the Scotsman was the pitching coach for the team. He'd met him a handful of times and had spoken on the phone more times than that. "Jim," he nodded to which Jim smiled back. He put his hand out towards Sulu who handed off Jim's lucky ball. One brow crept up his forehead as he saw the name on the side. "Well I'll be damned. Tha' is no'somethin' ya see everyday." Scotty handed the ball back to Jim who placed it gingery into his cubby.

“By the way,” Sulu began, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Jim Kirk.”

Sulu paused staring at him as his eyes glazed over. Scotty patted him on his shoulder shaking his head. Sulu collected himself, “You gotta be shitting me.”

“Sulu ma’boy you’re a helluva ball player but ya got some loose stuff in that head o’yers.” Scotty rubbed at Sulu’s hair. The two started talking loudly as Sulu defended himself and Scotty laughed.

Looking around the clubhouse, Jim read the names above the lockers. He recognized most of them but there were a few new ones he wasn't familiar with, must've been rookies like himself. It was strange looking around the room as flashes of memories from when he was younger filtered through his brain. Where his locker stood used to be Jonathan Archers, one of the best catchers in the major leagues. Across the way was where Anthony McKay hung up his shirt and next to that Ray Volio, who was a home run hitter in his day. Jim let his gaze wander but stopped before it went to the far back corner. He swallowed dryly and brought his attention back to the two in front of him forcing himself not to think of his father’s locker, or where it used to be when this place was still called _Cochran Stadium_.

"Welcome to the team, by the way laddie," Scotty held out his hand for a shake. Jim smiled genuinely nodding his head and shaking his hand. Scotty turned around regarding the large clubhouse. "Ny is around here somewhere, she'll pop up sometime to give you the official tour-"

"Ny?" Jim questioned. Was that even a name or a title? "What's a Ny?"

"Not a what," a female voice startled Jim. He turned seeing a dark skinned woman with her long black hair tied back in a severe ponytail that trailed down her back. She wore nice but workable clothing, not too tight but still good on the eyes. Jim didn't really look that hard at woman lately but this one gave him pause. She was pretty in the intimidating I'll-kick-your-ass way.

"A who. I'm Nyota Uhura, clubhouse manager." She held out her hand for Jim to shake which he did. Her grip was firm, no nonsense. "Please call me Uhura. If you need anything I'll try my best to get it for you. Clean up what you mess up and make sure your equipment bag is zipped and ready to go the night before game day and we'll get along fine."

Then she was gone, her hair flipping behind her and an assistant on her heels. Jim stared wide eyed wondering if the stiff conversation had actually happened in real life or if it was just in his head. "Is she for real?"

"Real and really in charge around here," Sulu laughed clapping him on the shoulder. "But steer clear my friend, that's Spock's and he doesn't share."

Jim held up his hands in defense. "Not my type. Trust me." And left it as that. Sulu swept his hand around the row of lockers that stood in front of.

"This is Rookie Row," he pointed down the set of five or so cubbies, most of which were empty.

"Why are you here then?" Jim inquired to which Sulu pointed upwards to an open vent that blew out cool air on his shoulders. "Best seat in the house."

With a turn Sulu pointed to the other side of the club house. "On the right is where the Pitchers like it, left is the outfielders. They stink so stay to the right. All the way over there," he swept his hand down to the far corner where Jim remembered his dad's old locker being. Sulu didn't notice as Jim didn't look straight at the place. "That's where the oldies put their stuff. If you've been on the team a while or your great like Spock then that's where you go. They get the bigger lockers to themselves and it's less crowded."

Beside where Sulu was pointing a door opened from an office. Pavel walked out nodding his head and jabbering away as he and Christopher Pike exited. They shook hands and Pavel was padding towards Jim excitement practically bubbling. Pike stood for a second before making eye contact with Jim and bringing up his finger to indicated he needed him to follow then he was back in his office.

"Looks like it's my turn." Jim patted Sulu's shoulder who was too busy staring at Pavel as the younger man came closer heading towards his locker that was on the other side of Sulu's, apparently. As Jim passed Pavel the kid whispered, "good luck," and then was gone. Jim shook his head holding back an eye roll.

"Jim," Pike greeted when he entered. "Take a seat, son." He indicated one of the nice leather seats in front of his desk. Jim sat seeing the coach’s desk littered with papers with scores and names lining them from top to bottom. Jim mentally shook his head, Manager. Pike was the manager not the coach. It was the same thing but a different title and Jim had to remember that now. The computer was on loaded up to a picture of the _Joanna's Field_ on a bright sunny day with people scattered about with smiles on their faces and a game being played in the background. It was a nice screensaver.

"First of all, welcome to the team it's good to see you here. I know it hasn't been an easy ride but you’re here now so that's all that matters." Jim didn't have anything to say back so he sat there awkwardly as Pike looked down at his papers. "We're going to put you at pitcher but you're second after Mitchell. He's got a bad tennis elbow so be prepared to go in at any time. You're at a disadvantage because we're already twenty games into the season but it won't be too bad, you'll get the hang of it in the next few days. We have an okay ride for the most part in the next few weeks so like today you'll have a handful of practices to learn the ins and out of the team. For batting you'll be given a relief so you're not going to see that side of the plate too much, at least for this first season. Standard protocol here in the majors."

Jim nodded. Standard protocol. Right. Fucking sucked, Jim loved batting but Pike was right. Not many pitchers squared up to bat.

"Here we don't juice, no steroids and drugs will get you tossed on your ass so fast your head will spin. My players are tested sometimes every week, sometimes once a month. Just depends on how the commissioner is feeling. Drinking is allowed, I don't care what you do in your free time but if you come to practice drunk you'll be seeing bench for a long time and that's if you're allowed to stay on the team."

"Yes sir."

"Practice today and a light workout tomorrow. Game against the Muskrats on Thursday then double header in Utah on Saturday. We've got a busy schedule but I'm sure you're used to that by now."

"Yes sir."

Pike finally looked up from his papers. He regarded him over his thin rimmed glasses for a second before setting down the pen he had been writing with and taking his glasses from his face to set down on the roster sheet. Jim straightened under his scrutiny.

"They guys will probably give you some shit, they all know your reputation."

Jim jumped in desperate for this man to understand in a way he hadn't felt the need to defend himself in a long time. "Sir, I can explain-"

"No need. I knew your father. We were friends back in the day. I understand son and I'm sorry." Jim looked away swallowing the lump in his throat. "But they don't understand so you have to keep it calm. No fights. No fucking around and please, try to make some friends. This team is like a family and we're damn good because of it. So meet the team, play some ball and maybe we'll just make it to the World Series this year."

Jim snorted sitting back. "No pressure."

Pike smiled sitting back in his chair and letting it lean.

"Alright, suit up kid. Welcome to the Majors."


	2. Here is the place to build a home

The sun was bright and its rays hot as it beat down on the manicured grass of _Joanna’s Field_.

The green grass was wet with early morning dew that hadn't been burned off yet. The air wasn't as stuffy as it was too early for the sun and smog to choke it just yet. Right now it felt nice with a slight breeze as Jim adjusted his _Enterprise_ ball cap over his head. He wore a windbreaker over his shoulders with his practice jersey snug across his back. The cleats he wore were old and battered, well-worn and too past their prime for the majors. He'd gotten them only two years ago but had worn them so much the metal spikes on the bottoms were starting to dull, but he loved these shoes. Uhura had arranged new ones in his cubby but Jim had ignored them in favor of his old reliable cleats.

The outfielders were at the far side of the stadium throwing balls back and forth from right field to middle stopping just short of second base. Spock and Sulu were among them. Sulu was smiling as he threw a ball to the center while Spock's mouth was in a closed tight line. But that was normal for Spock, Jim guessed. He could also see Grant Olson, left outfielder, laughing with a man turned away from Jim way out in the far back corner. There was a catcher too big to be Pavel behind the plate having trick pitches thrown to him. All in all it looked like a regular old practice.

So why did Jim feel so nervous?

 _Enterprise_ had a twenty-five man active roster and it showed as men scattered across the grassy field and dirt of the baselines. There were three starting pitchers with four relief. Two catchers, six infielders and five outfielders, one full time hitter that never played the and some all-around players who filled in any position needed field but Jim hadn't met them just yet.

Dirt crunched under his feet as Jim walked towards where the rest of the pitchers were warming up. Scotty stood talking to a man who was flicking a ball up to catch it in his hand. They were speaking casually like it was just another day, everyone was casual Jim noticed. He guessed it was because they were all so comfortable with each other. Pike had said that they were a big family and Jim could see that just as he walked towards the bull pen. Scotty greeted him as he got close. 

"Jimmy, my boy, long time no see!" The man who he had been speaking with turned to face Jim and Jim felt his heart speed up.

"JT!" Kevin whooped propelling himself towards Jim to encase him in a hug none too dignified. "I thought you weren't coming to practice until next week." 

"Schedule change." Jim told him when they'd parted. Kevin shook his head placing his hands on his hips. 

"You little bastard you should've told me! I would've come to the airport to pick you up."

"What?" Jim shook his head. "And leave that pretty new wife of yours for more than five minutes because of me? No way."

They smiled at each other sharing their own private homes just with their eyes, comfortable with each other the way old friends ought to be. Kevin had been the first one he'd called to say that he was being traded and brought up to the majors to play for _Enterprise_ and the two had spent hours on the phone talking logistics mixed with excited yammering about how they were back on the same team again. 

It had been years since Jim had seen Kevin Riley though they'd spoken on the phone at least once a week. They'd met in post season ball playing inside and overseas on most occasions. But that was years ago and the man who stood in front of Jim now was older and more filled out with his red hair chopped shorter and muscles bulging out of his short sleeved dry-fit. 

"Well I'm glad ya two know each other," Scotty cut in. "Riley, yer gonna be in charge a'Kirk. Show ‘im the ropes and make sure he don' get beamed in the head by a ball." 

"Aw," Kevin whined. "That was one time Scotty come on." He then turned gesturing for Jim to follow. 

"An I got the hospital bills ta prove it," Scotty grumbled shuffling away towards the dug out. 

The next few hours were a rush of throwing half speed, jogging around and just generally getting a feel for the place. He'd seen Pavel a few times behind the plate catching dirt balls but hadn't gotten the chance to actually speak to him yet but it was just as well, he was also busy. Kevin was a good teacher showing him around and telling him when to throw, when to run and who everyone was. He'd shaken so many hands he felt like his right hand would fall off. They hadn't actually allowed Jim to pitch from the mound to home plate like his fingers itched to do but he figured it was just because today was his first day. Pike said he was a relief for a few games before cycling him into starter so it wasn't all bad. 

By the time practice was over the sun was blazing and sweat was dripping from his forehead not being caught by the band in his ball cap. Looking around he noticed most of the men were red faced and hot dripping with sweat from a good practice. Slowly they trickled over to the dugout and down to the clubhouse where cool showers, ice and heat pads awaited. Jim followed Kevin after shagging balls for a round of batters. Sulu caught up to him as he jelly-legged himself down the steps to the alley. 

"You see McCoy sitting up watching?" was Sulu's greeting. 

Jim shook his head trying to figure out who he was talking about, that name sounded familiar. "Who?" 

"Dr. McCoy, the guy who owns the stadium and the team. Come on Kirk you gotta know these things," he said it jokingly but he was right, knowing the name of the person who owned your ball club was always a must. He took off his ball cap rubbing at the sweat on his forehead with his equally sweaty forearm managing to move the sweat around rather than sop it up.

"Oh yeah, I met him." He shrugged casually. 

Sulu laughed, "Got to meet his sunny personality then?" 

"I'm pretty sure he barked at me. I was checking out the field last night with Pav."

"That's McCoy for you. He's got some terrible bedside manner but he's a fair guy. Treats the players well and makes sure we have what we need. He used to be a doctor."

Jim wasn't sure why that bit of information surprised him so much but it did. Jim really couldn't picture the gruff man in nice clothing with stubble dusting his tanned face being a doctor. "Like a plastic surgeon?" 

"No man!" They'd reached their cubbies by now, Jim started to peel his sweaty shirt from his back while Sulu unbuttoned his pants to slide off. Jim mentally reminded himself to wear the shorts they'd issued him tomorrow. It was too damn hot for pants just yet. "McCoy was a trauma surgeon. Used to work at San Francisco General."

"Must've been a long time ago," Jim pulled down his pants not too concerned with how own nudity. He learned back in high school that no one really cared if they saw your dick as long as you didn't stare at theirs. He grabbed a towel and tied it around his slim hips waiting for Sulu. 

"Not that old. The guy’s what? Twenty-nine? Thirty?" Sulu guessed. "Hardly an old timer. But he can get a little harsh."

Together the two walked to the showers entering the steam filled room where chattering men soaped up their bodies and held conversations. Jim hung his towel and turned on his shower head relishing in the cold water that soothed his body. 

* * *

That night Jim decided to walk back to his apartment from Sulu's place after he'd stayed just long enough to have a few beers and watch a postseason hockey game on his flat screen. Sulu had invited him after they'd gone to lunch to continue their conversation about McCoy from earlier along with different discussions on who Sulu thought would score the most runs this year verses who'd grab the most bases. Jim put money on Kevin stealing and Spock hitting but then Sulu mentioned how Grant Olson had matched Spock in the preseason indoor of RBI's. It was still too early in the season for anything to be set in stone. Pavel had tagged along to Sulu's apartment and had still been chattering away at the Asian man when Jim had bid his ado's closing the door behind him. 

He wasn't drunk by any means but feeling good and tipsy from the beers as he padded his way through downtown San Francisco. There were many people out and about walking and laughing and drinking and smoking. He passed by a bar, the music could be heard blaring through the heavy door and windows. Dancing bodies could be seen swaying to the music as lights flashed fast, almost epileptic. 

Though the day had been a hot and stuffy one now the breeze was cool kissing his cheeks and making the leaves that fell from the trees rustle. It was nice, comfortable. 

The city was hopping in ways that Iowa never did. Sure there were a few bigger cities here and there and Jim had played in all of them a handful of times but here was different. As he walked down the paved sidewalk nearing his apartment and weaving through slow walking people Jim felt elation bubble in his chest. He felt calm and happy and he knew it wasn't just from the alcohol. He felt joyful like he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt like he was ready to start over. He was ready to build a new life for himself without the shadow of his father blaring over his head and past mistakes. 

Jim had never had it easy. He had to fight for what he got. Pitching wasn't something that just came to him one day, he'd watched and learned and studied and fucked up and fell and tore ligaments and popped his should out of place and tried again and again and again until he got it right. Years of practice and not taking _no_ for an answer got him to where he was now. And that wasn't something he took lightly. 

Some people thought throwing the ball wasn't hard. That pitchers weren't really athletes. Well fuck those people. It took work and skill to get that small thing those sixty feet, six inches from mound to plate. It took patience and precision and a drive that Jim had even when others told him he couldn't do it. Even when others tried to beat him down. 

Jim sucked in a lungful of air as he rounded the last corner towards his apartment. Yes, he concluded. Here he would start anew. Here was where he could finally build his life the way he wanted it.

Here would be his home. 

* * *

The next day called for a specialties practice only so pitchers and catchers were brought in while everyone else were left to their own devices. Jim had overheard a few of them were planning on getting day drunk over at Olson's house at the normal time they would usually have their afternoon practice. Jim had wished them luck as they laughed and waved after their shortened practice. 

"Alright, Kirk," Scotty came up to him with a smile. He held his hand out to place a ball into Jim's glove. "Let's see what ya got."

Jim was then led to the pitcher’s mound from the bullpen where he had been warming up. He wore dry fit shorts and a t-shirt that was much cooler than yesterday's shirt and pants combo. Everything they wore either had _Enterprise_ written on it or some variation of the line with their colors of blue, white and a touch of gold being intertwined throughout all of their gear tastefully. 

Chekov was behind the plate on his knees. He held up his finger as a small hello to Jim but didn't say anything. Pitching and catching practice was laid back but Pavel knew Jim's head was focused on the baseball he gripped tightly in his hand. Jim got up to the mound hearing dirt crunch under his metal cleats. 

"Okay, Kirk," Scotty started taking his hands out of his pockets. "Now ta start out I don want anythin' fancy. No stinkers or stunts or slurves, savvy? Just regular ol' pitch an catch to start out then we'll move on to the fancy-dancy stuff, ya get me?" 

Jim nodded saying nothing and Scotty hit him on the shoulder roughly but affectionately and walked off the mound. Nothing about the other pitchers and catchers stopped or got quieter but Jim could feel the atmosphere of _Joanna’s Field_ become tense. This would be the first time he's shown off his skill. Shown off what they brought him up for. 

Squaring up to the plate Jim stood sideways facing third yet looking at home. Pavel jumped up only to slide easily down into his crouch. The helmet he wore along with chest piece and shin guards fitting his smaller frame perfectly. 

Taking a breath not too deep yet also not shallow Jim mentally collected himself staring down Pavel's thick glove. He forced his mind to stop working and fell into the muscle memory his body just knew. 

Bringing his hands together, right hand clutched the ball with split knuckles over the seams Jim squared himself, brought his left leg up knee almost brushing his chest then slammed forward whipping first his elbow then shoulder and ending with a flick of his wrist letting go the ball and watching the fraction of a second it took to pop into Pavel's glove. Pavel let one of his knees down and threw the ball back to Jim to start again. And Jim did. 

He got into a rhythm of pitch and catch and throw and pitch. The ball felt good in his large hands as Jim felt the seams with his thumb. He liked having Pavel be his catcher because the kid just seemed to know him. They had been on the same minor league team for some time before both were brought up and the comradery that came from months of throwing together did wonders for their team work. Pavel would place a hand between his squatted legs with one, two or three fingers up then a direction to which Jim was supposed to throw. It was all very comfortable and Jim could feel himself relaxing getting into the position he loved in the sport he was good at. 

Still with all the throws Jim was doing he stayed away from anything too fast or too fancy. He knew he had a reputation and the sports announcers liked to paint him to be a trouble maker but he wasn't an asshole. He didn't intentionally pick fights and only threw his fists when provoked. And he most certainly didn't pitch directly at batters or throw games... 

Jim shook his head catching the lightly tossed ball Pavel threw back to him. He steered his traderous thoughts away from where they were headed not wanting to think about any of that right now. 

"Alright, kid." Scotty called jogging up to the mound changing baseballs with Jim for a cleaner one with more defined red stitches rounding it. He smiled, "Let's try a fast one. Show me what ya got." Then he retreated far back where Jim noticed the other pitchers had stopped their practices and stretches to watch. 

Jim cleared his throat digging a cleated foot into the dirt for more traction. He took the ball in his hand while Pavel signaled one finger up for a fast ball then settled back moving his legs so when Jim pitched he didn't fall backwards. Jim nodded squaring up facing third and centering himself. He brought his hands to the middle then lifted his left leg up to his chest and be powered forward rotating his whole arm and feeling a wicked glee as wind whipped past his arm and he let the ball fly. The momentum carried his body forward and he stomped down catching himself. 

Pavel, having caught Jim's fast balls already was prepared as the ball jetted into his glove but it still stung as jitters ran up his arm and shoulder from his palm. 

Off to the side ten rows up from first base Leonard McCoy sat beside Christopher Pike watching the practice shaded by the overhang of the stadium. 

"Shit," Leonard marveled as Jim collected the ball to throw again. "That kid's got a cannon." 

Pike smiled knowing full well that this was just the beginning for Kirk. 


	3. Pick yourself up, dust yourself off

It took four days for someone on the team to confront him.

If Jim was being honest, he was expecting it. Hell, he'd expected it to come sooner. What he hadn’t expected was for it to happen in the alley between the clubhouse and the dugout where there was no room to hide or defend himself.

He'd had his hat in one hand and glove held loosely in the other juggling the two and trying to button up his practice jersey. He wasn't paying attention to where he was going or who was around him therefor he was surprised as a mass moved from beside the wall. Jim only realized there was someone in front of him when he'd about run into the man. He jerked back dropping his glove in the process. 

"Shit, sorry," he recovered bending down to pick up the worn leather of the mitt. A cleated foot came down on it just as Jim got his fingers close. Jim looked up seeing Adam Hendorff above looking down on him like some deity and he, a peasant. Jim sighed standing up from his crouch.

"Um, excuse me?" He tried knowing it wouldn't work. Two players Jim didn't know the names of stood at Hendorff's shoulders with their arms crossed and pinched expressions coloring their faces.  

"We're all pretty tight on this team." Hendorff informed him, his bald head shining with sweat and his eyes a steel grey. He didn't back down as he came nose to nose with Jim. Jim held his ground knowing that what he had here was a straight up dick competition and he wasn't about to bow out or show fear. Hendorff scowled at him. "We win because we respect each other, we don't need anybody fucking that up by thinking he's the shit." 

Great. Apparently everyone reads the tabloids and watches SportsCenter then. Jim brought his chin up not backing down. "I wouldn't listen to everything you hear." 

"We don't need some hot shot," Hendorff got impossibly closer. "Everyone round here knows how much cock you had to suck to get brought up," the older man smirked at him, Jim felt his face grow hot. "That's the only way they'd bring a fuck up like you here, isn't it? You must be a great blow huh?" His buddies, Jim's _teammates_ , laughed behind Hendorff. "So how about you stay out of our way and don't throw at any of our batters heads during practice?"

Jim recoiled back slightly, feeling hurt and offended. He didn't have anything to say to that. He was just so tired of defending himself. With a shake of his head to clear away the bile sitting heavily on his stomach Jim slapped on his most Kirk-ian smirk and smacked Hendorff on the shoulder. 

"I'll try my best not to fuck with your little bonding fest, Cupcake." 

He bent down and snatched his glove from the dusty floor then pushed through the men standing in his way. He got a full step away before a foot came out from the side and he tripped falling straight forward only catching himself with his hands at the last second. The guys laughed, Jim could feel anger making him shake. The cement ground was dirty with sand and mud. Hendorff bent down to his ear and whispered, “You better watch yourself.” Then he left stepping on Jim’s glove as he ran out and onto the field. His buddies snickered, one kicked his hat. A few seconds later they too were gone.

Teeth clenched and body shaking Jim tapped his forehead against the hard ground trying to calm himself. He took a few deep breaths closing his eyes and thinking about all he could loose if he exploded right now. After a few minutes he heard cleated footsteps coming down the alley. He picked himself up, dusted off his pants and grabbed his glove. He was used to this, he reminded himself. He was used to getting beat down and making himself get back up again. He was fine.

Walking calmly down the alley Jim climbed the five steps to the field, slid on his glove then pulled down his _Enterprise_ cap until it fit snugly on his head hiding the frustrated tears that collected in his eyes. He looked up at the sky feeling the warmth of the sun heat his tanned skin. 

It was going to be another beautiful day here in San Francisco. 

* * *

The last practice before Jim's first game was a long one. He knew he wouldn't be playing for another week which would amount to three games of bench time before he was even thought of to pitch and that made a the stone in his stomach heavier. 

The sun was particularly hot today causing the white lines of the field to glare and the baseballs to become hot and sweaty in his palms. Jim did a lot of running and shagging for balls that the batters hit. He and Sulu decided to see who could plank that longest in the dirt beside the dug out – Jim won, but only barley. Then Gary Mitchell came over with a handful of outfielders to start their ab work out. It was hard and by the time Jim pulled his torso off the ground for the last time his insides felt like jelly. Following that it was a long two hours in the weight room and another forty five minutes running to music pumping into his ears on the treadmill. By the time Jim finally got out of the shower he desperately needed a cigarette. 

An hour after practice let out Jim found himself alone outside the stadium with his back pressed to the cement wall drawing a long puff from a cigarette. It was a nasty habit that he didn't let himself partake in often but now as his hands shook from nerves and anger he let himself indulge a little. One cigarette wouldn't hurt his playing, or so he reasoned with himself as he took another drag. 

The cigarette stopped the shaking in his hands and calmed his body enough that he slid down the wall into a crouch closing his eyes feeling them curl into the back of his head. His muscles were weak and abs shaking from the exertion earlier but the heavy nicotine helped. 

Jim held the smoke in his lungs a second before it started to burn then let out a breath through pinched lips. The buzz of the nicotine made him feel high in all the ways he'd felt so low ever since stupid Hendorff cornered him. 

He hated it. Hated that he let people walk over him. Hated that he hadn't defended himself. Hated that he'd started that stupid fight way back when. Hated that they thought he was a dirty pitcher. Hated that he let those people take advantage of him in the minors. Hated his how his reputation walked into town ten miles before him. Hated his stupid father for... 

Shit. Jim took another hard drag this time holding it relishing in the burn making his eyes water before looking up and exhaling shaking his head when the smoke wafted into his eyes. 

"Those things'll kill ya," a voice startled Jim causing him to jump. He turned his head to see Leonard McCoy, owner of the team he played for and the wall he was smoking against, walk up to him with hands in his jean pockets. Jim regarded him only a second before the cigarette sang its sweet tune and he puffed again. 

"That so." Less of a question, more of a broad statement as he spoke through the exhale of smoke. By this time Jim had maneuvered far enough down the cement wall that his butt touched the ground with his knees bent up to his chest. He leaned his head back on the wall staring up at the sky – or the parts he could see of it through the overhang stadium rooftop. 

To Jim's surprise, Leonard sat down to his right and held out his hand in the universal sign of wanting a drag. One of Jim's eyebrows crept up his forehead but he offered up his smoke none the less. McCoy took the cigarette between his fingers, wrapped his lips around the stick and sucked like a practiced man. Jim had to tear his eyes away from the older man as he felt a strange stirring in his gut. 

"My gram used to call these Cancer Sticks. Said they'd make you feel so good until they killed ya." He took another puff almost to the butt and let it out slowly. 

"Must've been a cheery woman," Jim commented. Leonard smeared the remnants of Jim's cigarette into the cement, Jim regretted giving the man the last swallow of smoke. His hands still shook. 

"I would've decked 'em."

Turning his head, Jim questioned though he already knew the answer. "Who?"

"Hendorff." Leonard answered simply scowling. "Hell of a catcher but don't got shit going on up here if you catch my drift." Jim couldn't hold back his grin as Leonard touched his temple. He snorted into his hand.  

"I get you." 

Together they sat both with small goofy smiles on their faces. "I really would have snapped though. Someone getting up in my face like that? Clobberin' time." To prove his point the man bunched a hand into a fist to smack against his other open hand. 

For the first time in a while Jim laughed without Pavel having to be there to crack a joke. He looked at Leonard chuckling and rolling his eyes with a shake of his head.

"Na, not worth it. If I'm going to be suspended for fighting it's at least going to be against someone who put up a fair fight back." Jim thought for a second. "How do you even know about that? We were in the alley."

"The walls have ears." Both eyebrows shot up Jim's forehead. Leonard let out a few quick breaths through his nose, a tiny laugh. "No, I own the stadium kid. Nothing happens that I don't know about."

"Okay. Creepy." Jim couldn't actually believe he was having this conversation right now. "Do you watch us in the showers." 

"Oh yeah. Got little camera and everything."

Jim's eyes grew big before he let out another laugh falling back against the hard wall cackling. "You're full of shit."

Leonard smiled at him and Jim felt his heart do a weird flutter as the man's white teeth caught the afternoon light. Was his eyes green? Brown? Jim couldn't tell. They danced between the two colors seeming to make a new one each second. They both stared at each other for the longest minute before Jim broke eye contract. 

"I better get going." He muttered. 

Leonard stood up before offering a hand to Jim. He took it being hoisted to his feet and definitely not thinking about how warm and calloused the man's hand was. When he was on his feet Leonard shoved his hands deep into his pockets once more. "You know they can't treat you like that. It's actually against their contract to bully someone on the team. One report to Pike and Hendorff can be gone or seeing bench time for half the season." 

Jim shrugged feeling his face heat. He stared at the ground mirroring Leonard's posture of hands in pockets. "It's not worth it. I'm-" _used to being treated badly_ was just on the tip of his tongue but he didn't say it. Jim Kirk was no whiner. Jim Kirk didn't let others fight his battles for him. "I'm a big boy, Mr. McCoy." 

"Doctor," Leonard corrected. He smiled at Jim again turning around to head off waving goodbye. "But I like being called Len!" 

And he was gone behind the wall and through a door. 

Jim stared after him for a few minutes not believing that he had just had a conversation with the fucking owner of the team, probably the richest man he'd ever spoken to and it hadn't gone as badly as last time. He still thought the guy had a stick up his ass but that stick might've gotten smaller, a tiny bit smaller. Jim laughed visualizing a stick shrinking. He shook his head away from the thoughts starting to walk towards the street where his apartment was located. 

Jim didn't notice how his hands had stopped shaking. 

* * *

The thing that most people didn't know about playing in the majors was that just because the umpire yelled _Play Ball!_ at seven o'clock at night it didn't mean that's when the game started. For Jim, game prep started around two when he was told to report to the clubhouse. Official stretch time wasn't until four but Pike had wanted him to get there early to pitch around with him and view some film since this was his first game. Jim had been confused, he wasn't even playing. But Pike had given him that no-nonsense look and here Jim was getting ready to be the first person in the clubhouse on game day. 

Packing up a book bag with things he might need, Jim threw it over his shoulders before bending down to tie his shoes still inside his apartment. The clock on the far wall read _one thirty-two_ but he ignored it knowing he had plenty enough time to get to the field. His chucks tied and making sure his fly was zipped up Jim grabbed his sunglasses and phone and just about skipped to the door. He paused just as his hand rested on the door knob. Jim stood still for just a moment before grabbing for his bag to tear off his back. He unzipped it, looked inside to double check his lucky ball was safely tucked inside. He saw the familiar scuffed white of the ball and took a breath telling himself he was an idiot before closing up the bag and placing it back on his shoulders. Jim stood for a long second, not moving but staring at the door. His body jittered with excitement and nerves. He felt sick to his stomach but also elated. 

He hadn't thrown up, which was a good sign.

"Jesus Christ, Kirk," Jim berated himself after he'd stood in front of the door for an unknown about of time. "Get it together, you’re not even playing this fucking game." 

And with that he forced his body to move pulling open the door and slamming it shut with just a bit more force than necessary. He took off from his apartment deciding to walk to _Joanna's Field_ rather than flag a taxi. The walk would help calm his nerves a little. Sure, he would be bench warming but the thought of actually suiting up, warming up, and getting on the field made his heart patter in his chest. Jim didn't even want to know how he'd feel when he actually made it to the mound during an actual game.

A part of Jim wished he could just get his first game over and done with so he could move on and stop stressing. The other part, the more rational part, knew that he had to pay his dues and take his time like everyone else. He wouldn't be playing until next week but he could still warm up with the rest of the team and for now that had to be good enough for him. 

By the time _Joanna's Field_ came into view Jim had succeeded in settling down and had plastered on his game face, though the game wouldn't be for another few hours. He walked into the stadium not having to flash his ID anymore as the security guard recognized him and went on in. It was still too early for most of the staff to have arrived but as he strolled nearer to the player’s entrance he could hear the grounds crew hard at work preparing everything. Jim knew they'd take the field for batters practice and warm up in an hour or so and they would have to water and rake the dirt again but that's just how these things went. 

Squaring his shoulders, Jim walked through the clubhouse entrance. This was it. This was game day. 


	4. Play Ball!

After stretching with the team, a round of catching balls in the outfield, and about an hour of light weight lifting, Jim felt warmed up and ready to go. It didn't help that they'd watched film of the other team for another forty minutes analyzing their strong points and weak ones alike to get ready for the game, to get pumped. Course, he didn't have anywhere to go with his restless energy. It wasn't like he was playing this game but his muscles still twitched for his glove and a ball. 

"So," Pavel began once they'd finished warming up and had to clear the field for the visiting team. They were sat next to each other nibbling at the food set out for the players as was custom before each game. Just a few light snacks, the real food would be out when the game was finished. Since neither were playing they were content to munch on their food instead of peddle on the stationary bikes or life weights like some of the others were doing. "Did you throw up yet?" 

"One time, Pav. One time and literally nothing came out. I think I had some bad fish the night before so that's not on me." 

"Please," Pavel piffed. "You are allergic to seafood so you would not have eaten any. Eet is okay to be nervous." 

"I'm not nervous," Jim grumbled stuffing bread into his mouth from the cheese sandwich he'd eaten. He had yet to button up his nice bright white shirt with _Kirk_ and _seventeen_ sewn on the back and his cleats were still off setting next to him. His leg shook and he cursed himself. He really shouldn't be this riled up. "You picked what socks you won't be washing all season yet?" 

"Da," Pavel smiled at him holding up his leg to show the blue socks he was wearing and would continue to wear the rest of the season. “These will serve me well."

Jim shook his head and his friend, the superstitious bastard. At least he changed his underwater unlike some guys he'd played with in the past. 

After a few more minutes of ribbing each other like only old friends could they sat in silence listening to the chatter around them. Jim looked over seeing Spock sitting on the ground, eyes closed and legs crossed. Meditating, he realized. He smirked looking away from the man, to each their own, he supposed. The atmosphere of the clubhouse was excited but calm. A sort of hurry up and wait as it always was before a game. Guys chattered with each other or played or fiddled with their phones waiting for the order to come down to take the field. Jim couldn't stop his leg from shaking. 

"We only spent a season in the minors and you played college ball before zat, eet is reasonable to have nerves before a game," Pavel clapped him on the shoulder then stood up. "Play with zat special ball of yours," he winked going off to seek out someone to distract him. Sulu, probably. Those two had gotten oddly close these last few weeks. Jim, not finding anything else to do leaned back in his leather chair, plucked his headphones out of his cubby, put them on and leaned back closing his eyes. He tapped his foot to the beat centering himself and letting the fast paced song fill his ears. 

* * *

_...And the home of the brave!_

"Play ball!" The umpire yelled. 

Jim replaced his hat back on his head and smoothed his uniform. The night was a nice one with a cool breeze coming in from the west and the stadium lights giving the _Joanna’s Field_ an almost iridescent glow. 

Walking back to the dugout from the grass line where they stood for the anthem Jim could hear his name being yelled from the stands. There were boos and sneers but he adamantly ignored them. He knew he wasn't a cheat. It didn't matter what the Hillbillies who watched the game thought. Or, that's what he tried to convince himself. It wasn't the warmest welcome to the majors he could've gotten but at the same time not as bad as he'd thought. At least they hadn't thrown popcorn at him like he'd seen some crazy fans do before. 

 The stadium was packed with fans and spectators cheering as the National Anthem finished up and the players cleared the field to begin the game. 

Jim was actually surprised at the amount of cameras facing the field from positions all around the stadium. There were cameras and men and woman operating them seated right next to both dug outs, being the plate, and above the stadium. The back of Jim's neck prickled at the thought of thousands of people watching the game from their homes or in bars. Then he shook his head telling himself to not worry about it. Pike had told him to just ignore the cameras when he was on the field so he looked away forcing his eyes to stare at his cleats. 

Taking his seat on the bench, Jim observed his teammates. Some took the field getting to their positions while others leaned up against the fence with their shoulders propping them up as they watched the warm up. Gary Mitchell was pitching with Henroff behind the plate. Spock threw a hard ball from center field and over to McKenna who was posted at right field. Sulu picked up a ground ball thrown from the third baseman who Jim only knew the man's last name to be Harewood and not much else. They all played and stretched out getting a feel of the ball while Gary threw a few more pitches to Hendorff. 

Jim was actually a little surprised at how many people were in the dugout. Between random people off to the side, cameras, and staff the dugout felt a little cramped. Geoff Mbenga, team physician and head trainer stood next to Pike. They spoke but Jim couldn't hear what was being said and didn't much care to listen that hard anyway. 

Staying quiet for the most part, Jim just sat back not wanting to draw attention to himself. After the jeers from the stands his confidence was rightly sapped and between that and not even playing the beauty of his first game was diminishing. He hated that his past just couldn't seem to let go of him no matter how hard he tried. Pavel wasn't even there to clap him on the shoulder and tell him to cool off like he usually did when he saw Jim falling into one of his funks. The Russian man was out in the bullpen behind right field warming up the next pitcher for when Gary had to take a break. So instead Jim let a black cloud fall over himself, sat back and waited for the game to start. 

Or at least that was his plan. 

"Kirk!" Someone yelled making him jump but recover quickly. Jim looked up seeing a few guys in front of him leaning against the chest high fence looking at him. The one in the middle – it was Bennet, third base and an oldie, he'd been on the team a long while and he spoke again. "You gonna come up here and cheer on your guys or sit back an mop cause you ain't playin'?" 

"I-" Jim struggled for words before he called himself stupid and stood up walking to the padded fence between Joe Bennet and another man he hadn't met yet but knew he was an outfielder. A hand came down on his shoulder and Jim stiffened. "Relax, man." Bennet mumbled close to Jim's ear. "Not all of us believe what they said happened. We know you, know how you play, you're _Captain_ for Christsake. And we're your teammates so take a breath, stop thinking we're gonna jump ya in the alley and enjoy the game 'cause pretty soon you'll be watching it from out of the field and it won't be so relaxing up on the mound." 

A smile forced its way across Jim's face and he nodded taking a breath and rubbing at his eyes. No one had used his nickname is so long it felt like a warm blanket surrounding him as someone did. _Captain_. Such a stupid nickname from college that followed him to the minors and Jim thought it was all but forgotten after that shitstorm. But someone remembered and that someone was now jokingly massaging his shoulders and patting his back before going back to lean on the fence picking up conversation with the man next to him. 

"Alright, alright. Let's go, let's go!" Bennet yelled when the batter from the other team came to the plate. The dugout cheered watching as the first ball was thrown. It was a strike, beautifully executed and right down the middle. 

"Just like that Mitchell." 

"Down center!"

"Gary! Your ass looks good in those pants!" 

The dugout cheered and Jim couldn't help but laugh. Sunflower seeds were passed down the line of players, Jim dumped a handful into his mouth and continued to pass it to the guy next to him. It was tradition to spit seeds and Jim wasn't one to go against a tradition. 

After a fowl and another strike the batter was out and another took its place. The next man was tall and lean, his jersey was striped white and black and dirt already peppered his knee though the game had just started. Mitchell lined up, Hendorff put his fingers down at his groin to signal the type of pitch. Mitchell cocked back to throw. He let the ball go and it zoomed to the plate. There was a crack as the batter's bat slammed into the ball and he took off. Jim followed the ball with his eyes, as did Spock who jetted off impossibly fast after the ball. It was going to be a home run, Jim knew it would be but Spock wasn't giving up. He was going to snatch the homer. And he did. Spock jumped up against the back pads catching the ball in his glove just as it snuck its way into homerun territory. Spock fell to the ground and the stadium exploded. Jim screamed along with them, excitement filling his veins. 

Spock nonchalantly threw the ball to his cut-off who then tossed it to Sulu then to third before ending up in Mitchell's glove. Spock didn't smile and wasn't out of breath as the fans cheered and he walked back to his spot getting ready for the next hit. 

Mitchell set up again and Jim spit a seed at his feet. The batter hit a grounder to second who easily flipped it to first and the top of the inning was over at three outs. Players cleared the field and _Enterprise_ cheered. 

"Three up, three down. That's what I like to see, gents!" Pike yelled clapping his hands and chewing gum roughly in his mouth. Spock came back in the dugout but no one touched him, respecting his space after so long of him insisting he didn't want to be touched. The man then took a spot on the fence next to Jim watching as Bernie West swung his bat preparing to enter the batter’s box. 

"Nice catch out there," Jim congratulated Spock after Bernie stepped up to the plate. Spock turned to him silently but nodded his head and Jim counted it as a win in his book so he smirked at the older man and turned back to the game. There was a sound of ball hitting bat and Bernie sprinted to first nabbing the base and taking off his batting gloves to replace with sliding ones. Jim spit another seed and clapped for his teammate. 

* * *

By the time the umpire yelled _Game_ at the bottom on the ninth, _Enterprise_ was winning by five and the _Blue Jays_ had all but given up. Some of the crowd had even begun to leave as they saw it was a clear who the winner would be. When the _Blue Jay's_ centerfielder missed a pop fly it was over, _Enterprise_ had won. The team cheered and trickled down into the clubhouse from the dugout. 

Reporters stood right outside the clubhouse blocking the way to the trainer’s room to the right and gym to the left. There were so many of them all with microphones and cameras. Some of the team walked right by, the reporters paid them little attention. Jim hoped he could be one of the lucky and not get interviewed. He hadn't even played so chances were good they'd let him walk on by –

"Kirk!" The first one yelled as soon as he came into their view. "James Kirk!" 

"James!" 

"Over here James!" 

They called him before all but throwing players out of the way to get to him. Jim felt his eyes widen as they got close and in a second his was surrounded, backed into a wall. Damn, he hated the reporters. Had hated them since the whole incident went down last year and continued to hate them even when it had all calmed down when he'd been pulled up. This was why he didn't go to the post-game reporter panels where they all fired off questions at him either praising a play or critiquing why he did the things he did. They'd ask him how he felt about this or that or pressure him to defend a decision and it was awful. Some players liked the panel, Jim couldn't stand it. He played baseball because he liked it, he was good at it. The money helped, though Jim hadn't really seen much of it. But that was a thought for another time as he forced it away from his mind. 

It seemed like they were all talking at once, the reporters were all vying for his attention. One voice was louder than the rest pitching her microphone into his face. 

"Now, I know you didn't get to play but how does it feel being here?" She shouldered her way to right in front of him. "Was there ever a time when you thought you'd never be brought up after all that controversy in the minors?" Microphones and recorders were shoved into his face and Jim wanted nothing more than to slap them away and storm out. He wanted to do his post-game cardio, he wanted to watch Sports Center with the guys, and he wanted to dig into the big spread he knew they'd gotten catered in by Rio's Bar and Grill. Most of all, he wanted these people to not stand so close. They crowded around him like sharks all wanting to get the best sound bite, ask the most pressing question. 

"I, uh, yeah. I mean,” Jim stuttered, “I didn't think it would happen but it did and I'm very thankful." Good answer. Safe. And pretty true. He plastered on a true Kirk smile knowing his bravado and charm would make up for his nerves. 

"How did it feel getting booed by the crowd when you came out of the dugout?" A man yelled from the back. Jim curled his fingers into a fist and quickly held it behind his back. His face gave nothing away. "How do you think it felt?" 

"I would guess pretty crappy," the man admitted. "Do you think you'll be branded as a cheater the rest of your career?" 

Jaw clenched and eyes hard Jim told himself to take a breath. They were just trying to get a rise out of him. Nothing would be better than for him to blow up after just his first game. 

"I certainly hope not." He bit out. 

"How was the game from the bench? I bet you're not used to that side of the field." 

He bit his tongue and swallowed. These questions were unfair but he was used to them. "I've seen the bench a lot in my career." He tried a new tactic – deflect. "But maybe you guys should be talking to Mitchell. He threw a good game. Spock also had a nice play in the bottom of the third-"

"Are you trying to take over captaincy of the team from Spock?" A man in a well-tailored suit and clearly wearing a healthy smattering of guy-liner questioned. 

"I'm just here to play some baseball. Pitch a few and see what happens." Jim's back was stiff. Behind him the cement wall was cold as he'd backed himself right into it trying to get even an inch away from the claustrophobic microphones. 

"And when you do pitch are you going to aim at batters?"

Jim’s hands started to shake, “I don’t think you’re allowed to ask –”

“How does it feel knowing that people think this comeback of yours is a sham to help bring back the Kirk name?”

He could feel himself getting angry and flustered and was sure it was present on his face, “What? I-I… what are you – ”

"Alright, alright! Break it up!" Leonard McCoy, the fowl mouthed angel sent from heaven, descended on the reporters scattering them. The men and women were ushered out by security and Jim was left standing there shaking in anger. Leonard turned to him when the doors closed behind the reporters. 

"I'm sorry," he said with actual sincerity that surprised Jim out of his boiling thoughts. "They're not normally allowed near my clubhouse." 

Jim shrugged furiously wiping at his nose and swallowing the lump in his throat. "It doesn’t matter." He turned on his toes opening the clubhouse doors and disappearing inside without another word. 

Leonard shook his head turning around when he heard footsteps behind him. "Finally coming out of hiding?" He asked the shadow.

Christopher Pike rolled his eyes shaking his head as he shouldered up to Leonard. 

"You let them down here, didn't you?" 

Pike put his hands into the pockets of his uniform. "I wanted to see what he'd do." 

"And?" Leonard questioned being surprised when he didn't feel anger. Irritation, maybe but he wasn't upset with his team manager and long time friend.

"He's got anger, but he's a good kid. Held himself back when he could have exploded on them. Angela is a tough one but he handled himself well." 

Watching through the window to the inside of the team’s clubhouse Leonard could see Jim talking with Hikaru Sulu and Pavel Chekov. He must've said something funny for the three of them leaned their heads back and laughed while Sulu smacked him on the shoulder. The kid's uniform fit him well clinging to all the good parts of him. His pants only came down to below his knees with his blue socks covering the rest of the way like knickers and it just added to the kid's allure. 

"When are ya gonna tell him the Romulans' are bringing up Nero?" Leonard didn't take his eyes off Jim. Pike was quiet for a moment or two until Leonard turned away from the handsome pitcher and back to his manager. "You have to tell him."

"I will," Pike sighed. "But not for a while yet. They won't bring up Nero for a while. We have time." 

"He won't take it well," Leonard swallowed, he didn't know everything but enough to know shit was going to hit the fan sooner rather than later. Pike padded him on his back wrinkling Leonard's nicely pressed blazer he always wore for home games at his stadium. 

"That's what we're here for. To pick him up when he falls."

"Don't get all waxing poet on me, Chris." 

"I've seen the way you look at him, Len. Even when you think I'm not there. The walls have ears, remember?" 

Leonard crossed his arms, "I look at all the players, Chris. I'm the owner. I gotta know if a man can hold his weight ‘round here."

"You've been to all the practices the last couple of weeks. You didn't used to come to every single one," Pike smiled knowingly. "That's going above and beyond owner duties don't you think, Dr. McCoy?"

"You're a senile old man." Leonard scoffed walking away to find a nice big tumbler of bourbon with his name on it. Pike placed his hands on his hips cursing fool children and entered the clubhouse hearing the cheers from a team who'd won a good game. 


	5. We're Bound for Better Weather

A breeze from the nearby bay blew through Jim's window filling his bare apartment with the smells of the outside world. Light trickled in brightening the room enough that when Jim rolled over a beam of sunlight hit his eyes making him groan not wanting to lose the warm tendrils of sleep that still faintly surrounded him. Another gust of wind hit the curtains aside making his room even brighter and Jim couldn't hold onto sleep any longer. He cracked one eye open feeling boogers at his tear ducks. He smiled stretching his strong arms above his head hearing pops and cracks all through his shoulders and back before letting his body go loose again as he stared at the ceiling. 

After the frankly horrid questions from those reporters last night he'd just wanted to go home as quickly as he could and hide. But as he unbuttoned his shirt and slid his shoes off Pavel had hit his shoulders and Jim couldn't resist the happiness that bubbled in his chest at the broad smile on the younger man's face. The Russian had been energetic speaking so fast it was almost too hard to keep up as he rattled on sprinkling some Russian in his words. Sulu had then came over and the three of them couldn't stop laughing as Pavel talked and Jim cracked jokes. After that he'd quelled his anger and forced it from his mind. 

The food that was catered in had been something else. It was sweet and savory. Rio's Bar and Grill had really out done themselves and Jim knew if this was how he was going to eat after every game he'd need to run a few extra miles just to keep in shape. Between the food, the excitement of winning a good game and _Sports Center_ highlights Jim had left _Joanna’s Field_ feeling good. He'd gotten treatments on his shoulder as he did after every game even if he hadn’t played and went through a leg work out before bidding his teammates goodnight. He had to beg Sulu off when he'd insisted on going out to a bar with him, Pavel and Harewood since they had the next day off. Jim had been tired and curling up in his bed sounded like the thing to top off his night. 

Looking at the ceiling in his apartment made Jim smile as he watched the morning light slowly crawl across it. It felt good to have a day off after practicing every day for the last couple of weeks. For months it had been _go go go!_ but now he could enjoy just lying in his warm bed in a nice apartment and not having to worry about anything. 

Jim felt his right hand start to move slowly down his chest tweaking a nipple as it went and disappearing under the covers to cup himself through his boxers. He licked his lips feeling that he was already half hard just from a little rubbing. It had been way too long since he'd just had a spare minute to himself and he was going to literally milk it for all it was worth. 

Slipping his hand under his boxers Jim took himself in hand and gave a few tugs until he filled out. With eyes closed he gripped himself hard using his other hand to push the blankets and his underwater away. The less mess the better. 

He started thinking about all the things that usually got him off. Men holding him down with their hands on his hips forcing him to stay pressed to the bed as lips hollowed out over his cock. Being forced to his knees by hands on his shoulders and a dick being shoved past his lips and hitting the back of his throat until he gagged on it but the men didn't stop and Jim didn't want them too. He always had to be in control except for now. With sex he gladly gave it up and let the other man have his way. Jim imagined someone whispering in his ear. 

_"God, you're so tight."_

Nipping at his jaw, forcing his mouth open to shove their tongue inside to devour him. Licking their way over his jaw and down his chest until they bit his nipple into a hard pebble. Jim tugged harder on his dick, speeding up. His hips jerked when his left hand pinched across his chest. 

_"Just right. You're just right."_

He grunted eyes closed imagining someone gruff and southern pressing two fingers into his hole spreading him open and kissing his hips with an open mouth. Trailing a tongue from one hip bone to the other while still pumping his fingers in and out before hitting a bundle of nerves making Jim shake, seeing stars. 

_"So beautiful."_

Jim moaned as he came over his fingers and spurted on his chest. He bit his lip riding out his orgasm with long gracious tugs before the poor spent thing slipped from his messy fingers and he opened his eyes panting. 

Wait. 

Did he just...

Yep, Jim concluded. He had just moaned Leonard's name as he came.

Jim rolled his eyes using his left hand to rub his forehead. He lay in bed just long enough for some of the fluids to cool then carefully detangled himself to pad to the shower where he refused to think about the fact that he'd just thought about the owner of his ball club while masturbating. Well – the sexy owner of his ball club but still, he was usually good at keeping himself in check, only going after the ones he could get. Since when was he attracted to the gruff ass southern doctor types? 

Since he'd met Leonard McCoy, a helpful voice supplied for him. 

He climbed into the shower turning on the water to roll over his body shivering when the first burst of frigid spray hit his sticky chest. As the water washed away any evidence of the past hour, Jim watched it go rubbing over his abs.

After the nice hot shower, a double condition because fuck gender stereotypes – he enjoyed the way his hair got so soft after a double treatment – he dressed in some loose fitting shorts and shirt then stuffed a granola bar into his mouth and was out the door. Placing ear buds into his ears and leaning down to stretch, Jim turned his music up high. It was a beautiful day for a run.

Passing people left and right Jim didn’t really pay attention to anyone or anything as he ran. Music pumped in his ears entirely too loudly but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. It was a nice peaceful run through downtown San Fransco as he passed high-end restaurants and the university. Jim figured a run through the old school to see the sights could do him some good so he turned entering campus. Students lumbered around toting backpacks or satchels. There weren’t many as the semester was starting to dwindle down, Jim knew it was just about exam time. Jim’s mind started to wonder as he ran.

College was such a strange time for him, He had gotten into Iowa State on a baseball scholarship and Jim had thought that that was finally it, he was finally going to get out of the house and away from Frank. He could finally be someone for himself. He didn’t have to flinch when doors opened or when the stairs creaked. He didn’t have to worry about having to lie about black eyes or tell people he had ‘fallen down the stairs’ and that was why his back was covered in bruises. A part of him still felt hurt and slightly sick that people took his lies at face value. His high school teammates would laugh and say he’d gotten into some kinky shit when they spied the finger shaped bruises around his wrists or the dark hand prints on his neck. No one ever asked what was really happening, either too stupid to take notice or not wanting to get wrapped into anything.

But college was a new start. A place of freedom and the openness to be whatever he wanted to be. He could meet new people and play some good ball and fall into some even better beds and just start a new life.  His team worked hard in the off season and won games in season. That’s where his nickname had come from – The Captain. It was a joke that got blown out of proportion when newspapers started doing stories on the ‘little baseball team that could’ and the captain who was leading them to victory with a ninety-six percent strike out rate. He was top of his class acing tests even when he skipped the class to throw ball around in the stadium with the guys. It was wonderful. Jim had lived the college life and he’d knew he’d never go home again.

That is until, of course, he had to.

The doctors said it was cancer from working with lead based equipment for so many years. Frank said it was the government trying to poison its people. Jim said nothing as he watched over the woman who had been absent most of his life and was now dying in a hospital bed. Winona didn’t speak much when Jim came home from college. She didn’t really speak to anyone. She lay in her bed ignoring the television to stare out the window. She refused chemotherapy when the doctors said it only had a ten percent chance of eradicating the cancer and there was a ninety percent possibility that it would just come back afterword.

When she died Jim was the only one there. Sam had never shown up anyways and Frank had already gone home for the night. Jim was there to hold her hand and listen to her as she called him George. She cried telling him she was so happy to see him, she’d waited so long and Jim couldn’t take that moment away from her so he smiled at her and called her Win and she closed her eyes, flatling. All his life she’d ignored him, left him by himself then left him with Frank. It was like she never saw him. She’d always seen his father and as she died it was the same story. Jim didn’t know if he was happy that she didn’t say goodbye or sad.

After that he never went back to college, Frank told him they were too far in dept from his mother’s hospital bills and Jim needed to get a job to cover it. Jim had resigned himself to never be able to play his favorite game again. He picked up a bartending job in Riverside, scrounged for tips and tried his damn best to stay out of Frank’s way when he came home sloshed from a night of drinking and playing cards with his other goon friends. Jim told himself that he didn’t care, that he was okay with flirting with strangers for extra tips. He ignored his mitt and ball left collecting dusk in a duffle bag in the corner of his room. He shrugged telling himself that retiring from baseball at twenty was okay. He paid bills, kept his mouth shut and stayed out of Frank’s meaty swing range for a year before a break finally came along.

When the letter had arrived, Jim ignored it throwing it on the table with the other bills and walking away to rub ointment onto the small cuts he had on his hands from slicing lemons. It took all of five minutes for him to realize that a letter had been addressed to him by the Minor League Baseball Association and he was sprinting back to the counter tearing it open and almost throwing up as he read it three times over. He was being asked to come to open tryouts for the _Iowa City Rays Minor League Baseball Club_. Frank, for his part, had snatched the letter from his hand then smirked with the ugliest twist of his lips.

“Good, now you can start pulling yer damn weight around here.” With a slap to the face and the letter thrown back at him Frank chuckled to himself all the way out the door and to the bar he liked so much.

Try outs were easy even though he had been out of practice. It took only a handful of throws before he was back in his groove and pitching strikes that slid down the middle beautifully. When he’d been offered a spot on the team Jim knew everything was looking up. He met a younger catcher just out of high school who could defend the plate and had a heavy accent and they became fast friends. Jim took the field of his first minor league game with a pop in his step and a good team behind him and he knew he’d make it to the majors one day. He had no doubt.

But then Frank sequestered all of his hard earned money siphoning it into his own personal account. When Jim had confronted him about it he got a trip to the hospital with broken ribs, broken wrist, a dislocated shoulder and fifteen games on the bench for injury.

Frank never let him see a dime of his money.

Then Nero happened.

And everything went to shit around him in a spectacularly horrid downward spiral.

“Hey! Watch it!”

Suddenly Jim found himself on the ground breathing heavily and covered in sweat. The back of his head hurt and he realized he’d just zoned out so hard he’d run into someone.

“God,” Jim pushed himself to his feet scrambling to help the guy pick up papers that had scattered all the while apologizing. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you. My bad, shit, I’m sorry I hope you’re okay IwasnotevenpayingattentionaIamsosorry-”

“Jim?”

As the last piece of paper was collected, Jim turned back to the man he had just body slammed. He gasped when he saw who stood in front of him – Leonard McCoy, in jeans and a blue button down that he had tucked into his belt. He had a briefcase in one hand and papers crinkled in the other. “Len?”

They stared at each other for a long minute both equally surprised to see the other outside the ballpark. Jim’s earbuds played his music loudly from where they hung down by his feet after they’d fallen from his ears.

“Sorry I, uh, ran into you. Should watch where I’m going next time, huh?” Jim supplied awkwardly. He looked down seeing the stack of papers still in his hand. “Oh! These are yours.”

“Thanks,” Leonard nodded when he’d handed them back. “What’s got you running so hard on your day off, kid?”

Ignoring the kid comment Jim shrugged running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Just thought I could get a few miles in, couldn’t hurt after the meal Uhura got for us last night.”

Leonard laughed and Jim felt a blush heating the sides of his face and ears. It was just because he had been running, he tried to tell himself.

“Ny’s a good clubhouse manager,” Leonard agreed. They fell into another bout of awkward silence. Jim was just about to dig a hole to jump into when Leonard spoke again. “So, do you drink coffee?”

“Do I drink coffee?” Jim parroted dumbly.

“Yeah, you know. Indulge in a cup’a Joe? Black nectar? That sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” Jim answered feeling himself start to smile. “Yeah, yeah I love coffee.”

“Would you wanna get a cup? With me? Sometime, I mean. Not now cause you’re all gross but sometime,” Leonard looked about as awkward as Jim felt and that made him laugh feeling his own trepidation start to melt away.

“Why, Doctor McCoy, are you asking me on a date?”

And that’s when Jim wanted to personally punch himself in the face. Why the _fuck_ did he just say that?

A car horn blasted from the busy intersection across from them. Leonard smirked cocking a hip to the side, one eyebrow traveled up his face. “Maybe I am, Mister Kirk.”

Wait. What?

“What?” Jim barked out suddenly not believing his own ears. “You actually do, I mean, you wanna go on a date? With me?”

“Sometime, yeah,” Leonard’s answering smile sent heat down his body to collect in all the good places. “Maybe after you win me a game or two you an I can go get some coffee. I know a great coffeehouse”

A limo pulled up beside them to wait. Leonard looked over at it, checked his watch, cursed, then turned back to Jim with a knowing tilt of his lips. “I have another meeting and you need a goddamn shower so we’ll have to postpone our date until after your first game, how about that?”

“I-” Jim’s mouth was dry, was this really happening?

Please let this really be happening.

“Yeah,” he coughed to cover up his stumble. “Yeah that sounds good.”

“Alright, kid. Well, I better be off. See you on the field.” Leonard looked reluctant to go but turned towards the limo. The driver got out to open his door.

“I’ll be the one pitching strikes,” Jim couldn’t help but call as Leonard got in his fancy car. The older man looked at him with an eyebrow up to his hair line.

“Just focus on getting the ball over the plate, Rook.”

With that the door was shut. The limo took off half a minute later and Jim walked back to his apartment feeling like he was walking in the stars. A smile settled on his face that he just couldn’t get rid of and that night as he grabbed himself under his boxers he looked forward to a deep southern voice whispering in his ear.


	6. Play Ball! (For Real)

Jim threw up once… then twice. 

His chin rested heavily on the seat of the toilet when he finished hacking for the third time. He knew, logically, that this was the most disgusting thing he could possibly be doing but his head was hot and the seat was cold so fuck everything else. His stomach twisted miserably and he opened his mouth knowing there wasn't possibly anything left to dispel from his body yet accepting that it would attempt to anyway. 

Feeling another surge of bile race up his throat Jim let it out choking on the bits of half-digested food and scrunching his nose at the smell. After that bought he knew there was nothing left in his stomach and he confidently, if a little shakily, stood up to flush the toilet. Jim washed his mouth out thoroughly, twice, brushed his teeth then rubbed water over his face. He looked up the mirror and smirked at himself. The image of his face in the mirror was pale but smirked back and he shook himself one last time to flick off the nerves. 

It was finally here. It was game day and he was going to pitch. 

* * *

 _Joanna's Field_ looked the same as always but something about it seemed different. The stadium smelled of hot dogs, popcorn and freshly mowed grass. It was brighter, livelier and the air was filled with nerves – or maybe that was just Jim. 

Watching film from the _Orion's_ last games with the other pitchers, warming up with the team, doing a light work, and running a mile on the treadmill didn't stop Jim's nerves from jumping under his skin. It was ridicules, this was his job. He's been playing for over half his life and so he shouldn't be scared. He was a good pitcher, a good player and he could do this. 

A chill crept up the back of his neck at the thought of a batter leaning into one of his pitches, of an umpire charging him from the plate to accuse him of cheating. The whole stadium would boo him. His team would refuse to look at him. His managers would scowl, they might even spit at him, anger would flush their cheeks and disappointment -

Jim shook himself out of that mindset. None of that would ever happen again. This was the Majors and Nero was nowhere near him. All that was back in Iowa, San Francisco was a new start. He would do everything in his power to make it so nothing like Iowa City ever happened again. 

Music played through the speaker system in this clubhouse. Uhura insisted she only bought the best and it was true. Calming music washed through Jim as he relaxed in his chair fully dressed and ready to take the field. He knew his teammates around him were equally ready, all just waiting for game time. He must be giving off a don't-bother-me vibe because other than Pavel no one had tried speaking to him since he'd come back in from fetching balls in the outfield with the other pitchers. 

Speaking of other pitchers, Jim cracked an eye open hearing the rustle of shoes on carpet coming closer to him. He sat up straighter when suddenly he found himself encased in a circle of pitchers. Mitchell stood in front of him, a wolfish grin on his face. Jim knew this couldn't be good. 

"Alright, Rook. Here ya go!" A bright pink Barbie book bag was brought out behind Mitchell's back. He tossed it to Jim as the guys around him burst with laughter. Jim held the bag in his hands almost being blinded by the unfortunate shade of pink. Mitchell, when he had calmed down his own laughter, held his hand up to explain. "Now, you're gonna get hungry back in the bullpen so we just thought you'd enjoy some snacks. We also put some nice pink sweat bands in there just in case you get a little hot. At the bottom you'll find a mirror so you can check your hair before you take the plate. It's our gift to you and we know you'll hold it near and dear to your precious little heart." 

"Ba!" McKenna spit out a trickle of water trying to hold it in his mouth and failing as he doubled over laughing. Jim chuckled along with them knowing the ribbing went along with being a rookie. He threw his head back picturing himself caring the small child sized pink book bag out to the bullpen over his shoulder. 

"Good one, guys." He smiled shaking his head still chuckling. Mitchell crossed his arms with a smirk sliding into place over his lips. He leaned down into Jim’s space. Beside Mitchell, Mike Blake cracked his knuckles, as did the other men circling Jim. Someone behind him took the cap from Jim's head swiftly but he didn't move to see where it went. Another set of hands took the pink bag from his grasp. 

"Now Jimbo, we have some traditions here," Mitchell started. The locker room seemed to get oddly quiet. Jim's heart quickened. 

"We just want to make sure yer ready," Mike scowled at him. 

Behind Jim a voice that sounded like Jake Livingston said, "Today is a big game and we have to make sure you’re head’s in the game." 

McKenna shrugged, "it's only tradition." 

"Get ‘em boys!" Mitchell yelled a second before the five guys surrounding Jim leaped forward all at once. They all yelled what sounded like nonsense to Jim’s ears and laughed rubbing the top of his head. Jim tried halfheartedly to bat their hands away but couldn't get a good grip as all of their combined weigh upset his chair and suddenly he was laughing on the ground covered in first, second and third string pitchers all rubbing his head for luck. 

It was an old tradition and Jim practically cackled feeling tears leak from his eyes. The guys above him laughed shoving at each other. 

"Alright, alright, enough of your weird ass pitcher rituals!" Pike was standing over the pile with his hands on hips shaking his head. One by one the men stood up until it was just Jim on the floor laying on his fallen chair with his cleated feet still in the air. His hair was a mess and face red but he had never felt so relaxed before a game in his life. Adrenaline coursed through his body but not nerves. 

Mitchell held his hand out which Jim took to stand. The slightly older man clapped him on the back brushing at his crumpled uniform. 

"Welcome to the Big Leagues, Rook,” he said with an encouraging smile.

* * *

Leonard McCoy stood up in his penthouse box with one hand stuffed into a pressed pant pocket while the other held a tumbler loosely. For the most part he ignored the aged alcohol in his hand as he watched his team take the field. He felt a strong surge of pride rise in his chest, as he always did when the men he thought of as 'his' took their places on the baseball diamond. The night was set to be a good one with clear skies, a slight wind from the west and no clouds in sight. It was warm but not hot, sunlight shined onto the manicured grass brightening the green and Leonard hummed to himself and smiled. 

That smile quickly turned into beaming as he saw Jim Kirk jog on to the field, glove and ball in hand, cap on head and a obviously nervous expression on his handsome face. From Leonard's viewing room just above the club seats at the top of the stadium behind home plate he could hear everything the fans yelled through the open windows.

Some of the crowd booed, but that was alright – he knew that Jim understood there would be grudges still. Most of them cheered, little kids hopped up and down in their seats while their mothers or fathers tried to restrain them as Jim stepped up to the mound. 

The blonde haired man started his warm up, Leonard couldn't stop thinking how well his uniform fit against his body. The white snuggled up to all the right places as Jim picked his foot up to throw. He looked great, a far cry from the beat up kid Pike had told him about months ago. 

All too soon the umpire – an aging man named Anthony Boswick that Leonard had always liked because he was fair – called for the batter to approach the plate. 

Today's game would be against the _Orion Traders_. A good team with a fair amount of wins so far this season but nothing compared to _Enterprise_. There was a reason Leonard could afford the oldest bourbon and it wasn't because of his daddy's life insurance he'd gained. 

The batter took his place, Jim squared up and Leonard forced his hand not to grip his glass so tightly. 

"Jim Kirk lines up to stare down Marty Small, third baseman for the _Traders_ ," Leonard heard the radio's voice from the other side of the room. It was tuned into the game even though he was watching it live. "Kirk, a rookie from Iowa State is waiting for the sign from Hendorff. Finding one he likes he stands back. And from there he whines up for the pitch." 

Jim's first throw sails down zipping into Hendorff's glove easily. 

"Strike one." 

The catcher throws the ball back and Jim catches it. The fans clap their hands readying themselves for the next ball. Jim leaned down to catch the sign then stands straight again. He winds up and throws. The ball goes high forcing Hendorff up from his knees to try to catch it. Barely getting the ball into the knit of his glove, Hendorff tossed it back shaking his head clearly saying something to either Kirk or the batter. 

"Calm it down," Leonard murmured to the glass window in front of him. Jim smacked the ball into his glove a few times roughing it up to get a better grip. He physically took a deep breath that even Leonard could see from his birds-eye office then squared back up to the plate. 

The third throw went down the middle, the batter swinging hard tipping into Hendorff's glove. 

"That's strike two for Small. Usually he's a good batter. In the off season Small is known for-"

Leonard tuned the commentary out as Jim threw the next ball. It went down in the dirt way out of Hendorff's line of sight. Since there was no one on base, the catcher didn't even attempt to nab it. Instead he reached back for the umpire to hand him a new ball which he did then threw it back to Jim. Leonard could practically hear the other members of the team yelling encouragement to Jim as he shook himself again. Leonard understood, first game nerves. The majors were a big deal to a small town hick from nowheresville Iowa. 

Jim stared at his catcher and with a nod he collected himself to throw again. Winding up, Jim brought his foot up then slammed down throwing the ball. It was beautiful and quick. The batter never had a chance as it sailed past his bat. 

"Strike three and Smalls is out." The announcer informed. "Next up is a lefty Hayfeild..."

The next batter was large, obviously a catcher himself. He hit the plate with his bat and stared down Jim. Jim threw the ball and with a crack it went sailing high over his head and the batter took off. He didn't get far though as Spock ran in the outfield to made an easy catch. 

"Alright Jim lets go. Come on." 

The third batter came up and Leonard had a good feeling when Jim smirked at Hendorff reading the sign he was given. He pitched the first ball fast. 

"Strike one!" 

The next ball had Jim cocking his hand in a weird angel that Leonard recognized as a curve ball from his position but knew the batter couldn't see. 

"Strike two!"

Jim didn't even wait for the sign from Hendorff before he threw the third ball. Reckless. But that was Kirk and that was something Scotty would have to work on with him. 

The batter missed by a mile. 

"Strike three!"

And the fans went wild. Cheers took up _Joanna's Field_ hooting and hollering. Sulu ran up to Jim as the two jogged into the dug out to slap him on the back.

Leonard could see Jim hide his smile into his shoulder. The older man grunted and took a sip of his bourbon before sitting down in his leather seats, crossing his legs and letting the game progress under him. 

By the time the sun set and the umpire called game _Enterprise_ had won seven to two and Leonard felt pride bubble in his chest. 

* * *

Warm water beat on Jim's back forcing his muscles to relax. It had been two hours post game and his hands had finally stopped shaking. 

It had been a whirlwind of activity after the game. Interviews, leg work in the gym, eating too much of the spread that Uhura had catered in and getting his shoulder iced had taken up a lot more time than he'd thought. His hands had only started shaking after he'd been pulled in the fifth inning. He had been so hyped up that the excess energy had nowhere to go so it went to his hands. He'd stuffed them into his pockets so no one could see then enjoyed the rest of the game. Afterwards, during the interview panel he'd kept them below the table hoping that he'd calm down after doing his post-game work out. When that hadn't helped Jim just rolled his eyes and cursed his body then devoured his food. 

Now it was hours later and his hands had stopped shaking. He felt tired in a good way. He'd done well tonight. Pitched a good game. Not perfect, but good. 

After standing under the spray for as long as he felt necessary Jim turned off the water and toweled himself off. When he walked back into the clubhouse with the towel around his waist he wasn't surprised to see most everyone had gone. There were a few stragglers and Pike was still in his office with the door closed but otherwise the locker room was empty. Jim took his time putting his street clothes on and zipping up his bag making sure his favorite hat sat nicely in his cubby hole and lucky ball was tucked into his bag then he made his way out waving at the few players left. They all tossed their goodbyes and Jim threw a _bye guys_ over his shoulder. 

Coming out of the clubhouse and into fresh air felt good. Jim took a deep breath letting the late night air fill his lungs. 

"Good job tonight kid," a voice rang out making him jump. 

"Jesus!" He gasped grabbing his chest as he saw Leonard come out from where he'd been standing outside the clubhouse door. "You scared the shit outta me, man."

Leonard chuckled shaking his head. Jim felt his insides warm at Leonard smile and the way the artificial light reflected off his eyes. 

"Sorry, I was just walking to my car."

"You always stay this late after games?"

"Sometimes," Leonard shrugged. "When my rookie players take their sweet ol' time coming out."

Jim could feel himself blush all the way from the back of his neck to his ears. "You were, uh, waiting for me?" 

Licking his lips, Leonard nodded smiling and looking away. "We never did set a date for that coffee." 

"Wha-oh!" Jim recovered himself. "Yeah we didn't. You uh, um, you free tomorrow?"

"No," Leonard laughed and Jim had to hold back his disappointment. "And neither are you." 

"How do you... Oh, right. Game." He wanted to smack himself. Since when did he start sounding like an absolute dumbass? When did he become the bumbling blonde? Jim had to laugh at himself. "There's a game tomorrow." 

"You'll be there?" Leonard teased to which Jim felt his neck get even hotter. 

"Yeah I-I'll be there." 

"You'll be the one pitching strikes right?" 

Jim brought his head up to Leonard who had a happy glint in his eye. "Yeah. That'll be me." 

"Well I'll keep an eye out for you," the older man smiled. "I'll see you later, kid." He clapped Jim on the shoulder lightly letting his hand stay for just a second too long before he walked off. Jim looked down at his shoulder feeling warmth still seeping into his skin. He grinned and had to bite his lips to stop the unmanly noises from escaping his mouth. With a smile on his lips and good feeling in his stomach, Jim hiked his bag up on his shoulder and started his walk home. 

Down the way and off to the side out of sight Leonard slapped his forehead and called himself an idiot. 

"All that damn waiting and I still didn't ask him when he was free. Dumbass," he chided himself. 


	7. Bitter Losses and Threatening Bats

The first thing Jim did when he woke up on his first day off after his first five games was slide open his iPhone to activate the banking App. After activating the application all he could do was gape at the screen. He had his bank balance pulled up and the number it showed was way _way_ beyond what is was just yesterday. His eyes must've been comically wide but since he was alone in his apartment no one was around to laugh at him. 

The money in his accounts read above the triple zeros for the first time in Jim didn't know how long. He clicked through the app to see that his first pay check had been deposited into his account and Jim smiled.

This money was _his_. 

The money that sat in his account was his. Not his mother’s, not his father’s and definitely not Frank’s. It was his. His to spend. His to buy whatever he pleased. His to do whatever the _hell_ he wanted!

Jim gave a loud _woop!_ before turning around to grab his leather jacket and keys off the table, locking the door as a last minute thought before he slammed it behind himself. 

Two hours later a sweaty Jim Kirk kicked his door open leaving his keys still in the lock. He cantered to the side attempting to catch a grocery bag that threatened to fall from his arm. Grabbing hold of everything, his muscles straining and breath coming a little fast Jim deposited his bounty on the kitchen table. He had bags and bags of food in plastic grocery bags – sure the reusable bags would've been more environmentally friendly but Jim hadn't thought that far ahead as he'd run to the store. So, plastic it is. After running back down to the taxi to get the rest of his bags and pay the driver, Jim stepped back in his kitchen and placed his hands on his hips with a smile coloring his lips. His bags filled up the entire four top table brilliantly. He let himself ogle for only a few minutes more before buckling down to unwrap and get everything to fill his empty refrigerator, counters and cupboards. 

Jim pulled out food he hadn't even remembered he had bought and it was wonderful. Across the kitchen into the living room he turned on music to blast as he worked putting away his things and preparing a meal for himself. His hips shook to the beat while his muscular calves hoisted him up on his tip toes to put cereal above the refrigerator. Jim closed his eyes to belt out a lyric using the _Pam_ _Nonstick Cooking Spray_ as his microphone. He left the fridge open to carefully put in the milk, juice, meat, eggs and other perishables all the while dancing like he was at some high school prom. 

When everything was put away and his pasta was boiling Jim took stock of his full kitchen. There was no nuts and no seafood that graced his shelves but there were plenty of other things that wouldn't set him into anaphylactic shock. The pasta that boiled made his apartment smell like a home. 

Jim sat down half an hour later at his small table with a large plate of penne pasta and Alfredo sauce. He dug into the food he'd made himself and savored the taste on his tongue. Though the food was good, the apartment lit warmly and his kitchen stocked, Jim still felt like something was missing. A part of him yearned for someone to share this all with. 

The thing that Jim didn't understand why was when he thought of who he wanted to share his meal with Leonard filtered through his mind. 

* * *

The next game Jim started was hot and ungodly muggy. Bugs swarmed his face no matter how hard he tried to swat them away. Sticky sweat dripped from his forehead not being caught in the band of his hat and slid down his face. The jersey that proudly displayed his name and number stuck to his wet back even though he wore an expensive _UnderArmor_ shirt to stop just that from happening. It was the bottom of the seventh with two outs and the game was a tough one. _Enterprise_ was down by three and Jim's shoulder was starting to ache. 

He'd been the finisher in their last four games in as many days and he could feel the stress of constant moving and traveling every day starting to wear on his body. He knew they wouldn't always travel so far or work so hard but right now it was buckle-down time. Pike promised him the starting position for the next ten games if he kept up his good game play. 

Tonight the game was in the heart of Texas and by the way the heat made the air thick like molasses even at night Jim knew he wasn't used to these temperatures yet. Sweat dripped down his back and soaked into his favorite ball cap mercilessly. His skin felt sticky and overheated. He just wanted to get this inning over with. It felt like it was never ending. The umpire had made some questionable calls. He had already walked two guys and had another up and ready for a nice stroll to first. Jim would be damned before he let this batter load the bases. 

Jim wound up and threw staying hunched over as the ball whizzed into Pavel's glove perfectly. 

"Ball!" The umpire called and Jim felt his mouth drop. Distantly he heard his team yelling, their growing disappointment about the bad calls starting to reach a boiling point. The people in the stands booed the umpire. 

"Get your eyes checked Blu!"

"Need some glasses? Take mine!"

"Come on Kirk!"

Jim shook his head swallowing his anger as his catcher threw him the ball back. He kept his mouth shut, it wasn't worth getting thrown out of the game over a few bad calls. He didn't know this particular umpire but he did know that some of them had short fuses. One bad look and he'd get thrown out then it would be bye-bye starting pitcher. 

Pavel put the sign for a fast ball between his legs and Jim shook his head. The younger man changed his finger to show a curve and the blonde nodded. A nice curve ball would shake this stagnant inning up a bit. 

He threw hard twisting his wrist at the last minute feeling the ball curve through the air. 

"Ball four! Take your base."

"What?" Jim couldn't hold himself back. He placed his hands on his hips feeling his blood under his hot skin start to boil. The lights overhead seemed to brighten as he clenched his jaw to stop from cursing louder.

"Watch it, Pitcher!" The umpire looked directly at him and Jim started to feel his hands shake with anger that ripped through him. Pavel must've said something for the Umpire turned to him frowning and shaking his finger threateningly. Pavel shook his head. Settling back into a crouch smacking his glove. Jim bit his tongue harshly to stop himself from saying anything. Pavel tapped the top of his helmet three times then swiped his arm across his chest plate and Jim nodded seeing the sign. Pavel was telling him to calm down and he knew he needed to. Keep it together. Don't get riled. 

Pavel called for a straight and true fast ball right down the middle. Jim accepted the sign with a nod. A bead of sweat slivered past his right eye and down his cheek tickling his neck. A bug buzzed near his ear and the lights were harsh in the muggy air. He wound up and stretched letting the ball slide down the middle. He saw it, a strike, he was confident in his pitch. Pavel didn't even move his glove as the ball whizzed in just below his chin. 

"Ball!"

The crowd booed louder than Jim had ever heard. His eyes widened, the sweat sticking his shirt to his back ran cold. This was really happening again. 

Seeing movement from the corner of his eye, Jim looked over as Pike came out of the dugout. He walked onto the field forcing the umpires around the infield to yell a time out. Pike was quick in his steps but was in no way hurrying. His head was down and he itched his nose lazily as he came closer to the umpire behind home plate. The crowd cheered and called voicing their anger at the first questionable then straight up terrible calls that had been going on all night. Pike's jacket was zipped over his uniform and it pulled tight over his shoulders as he crossed his arms. 

"It's pretty hot out here tonight, huh Denvera?" he commented when he got close enough to the umpire. Jim could hear them clearly even as they stood next to home plate. "The heat may be getting to you. You remember where the strike zone is?"

"Watch it, Pike," Denvera growled. "It's not my fault your golden boy can't seem to be pitching anything good tonight. I call it how I see it." 

The older man nodded his head placing his hands on his hips, “You sure about that?"

The umpire’s eyes went wild, his mouth pulled down into a harsh frown. He took a step closer to Pike but Jim could still hear the words he spat. "I'm not the cheater here." 

Pike nodded slowly then gave a tight smile and turned away from the umpire. He started to walk towards the pitcher’s mound keeping his head down. When he was close enough Jim could see the anger in his eyes. It was subtle but Jim could see the way the sides of his eyes crinkled and his mouth pulled down at the sides. 

"Looks like Denvera's got a small strike zone today." Pike commented when he stepped up to Jim. With his gloved hand pressed against his hip Jim nodded waiting to see what his coach would do. He looked Jim up and down then bit his lip before nodding his head seeming to come to a conclusion.

"I'm taking you out."

He then signaled the bullpen to send another pitcher out. The crowd started yelling their anger.

Even though Jim knew it was coming the statement still filled his veins with more fire. He couldn't be taken out. Not like this. 

"Pike, you've gotta be kidding me! I got us this far-"

"Blu isn't playing fair and I'd rather sit you down then lose the game. O'Connel's good. He'll sweep us up and get us out of here." Pike eyed him hard in a way that said they would talk later. Jim frowned hearing the relief pitcher's cleats on the grass jogging towards them. Licking at his lips and forcing himself to stay calm Jim gave Pike the game ball then turned on his heal and walked off the mound. Every fiber of his being wanted to charge home plate to give that asshole a piece of his mind. He wanted to scream and yell and demand a new umpire. His fingers tightened into a fist that itched to be thrown at jaws just to feel the satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage break under his fingers. But he couldn't do any of that. He was on thin ice as it was. In his head he knew all the rumors and the things he had been charged with were false and he'd be damned if he gave truth to them by charging at the umpire. So he took the abuse and shouldered it. Later he would probably scream and curse and most likely cry but for now he was stone faced. 

People in the crowd yelled and hollered. Confused as to why Jim had been taken out in the middle of the inning. Others called at the umpire throwing insults and jeers. Jim ignored them all instead keeping his jaw clenched and eyes forward until he entered the dugout, found a place no one was near and plopped down. No one tired speaking to him knowing that if it were them they wouldn't want to talk to anyone either. Still sorrowful glances were directed his way while mean mugs were scowled at the bigoted umpire. Jim used his shoulder to itch his chin then pulled his cap down to cover his eyes. He had a reputation, he knew, and no matter how far he ran it followed him until it corrupted the people around him. Making them cast their judgment on him without him having to even open his mouth. 

Pike walked back into the dugout and right over to the phone attached to the wall to make a call. The umpire yelled for the game to resume but Jim payed it little attention as a hush fell over his teammates. 

In the end, _Enterprise_ lost by two. It was a bitter loss knowing it had been unfair and Jim didn't look at his team as he showered and packed up his things to get ready to go back to their hotel. They would stay the night in Texas and head back to San Francisco tomorrow morning. 

His post-game work out was high intensity leaving him feeling weak and limbs twitchy. It diminished the fire in his veins but left him hallow as he washed his body in the shower. His mouth felt sewn together, he felt like he was moving through molasses as he cleaned his body half-heartedly. 

Even as he packed his gear and nibbled at some food no one spoke to Jim and he didn't know if it was a good thing or not. The atmosphere of the clubhouse felt heavy and off. 

Grabbing his bag, Jim left the room to head towards the bus. It was still an hour before they were supposed to leave but he needed to be alone. Fingering his earbuds he popped them into his ears as he took a back seat on their large team bus. He stared out the window letting his head rest on the cool surface while music blasted in his ears. Jim was content to sit under his dark cloud for the next hour until his teammates boarded the bus but someone sat down next to him. Even then he didn't turn his head to look, too lost in thought. It wasn't until one of his earbuds were taken from his ear that he jerked. 

"Hey-" he started before his eyes grew large. Chris Pike sat next to him holding one of his buds between his fingertips. 

"Hey yourself, Kirk," Pike smirked at him and Jim shook his head. 

"How'd you find me?"

"Wasn't too hard. You kicked your own ass in the gym then took a long shower and disappeared. Not many places you could run off to here in bumfuck Texas."

Jim took a breath feeling the sides of his mouth deepen in a frown. He turned back to the window. Outside it was dark, even the stadium lights had been turned off. "What a shitty game."

"Yeah, well," Pike shrugged. "These kind of games happen sometimes. Good job keeping your cool out there though. I thought for sure you'd say something."

"And get ejected?" Jim turned back to the older man. "Trust me, I've had my fair share of assholes making bad calls. One more wasn't going to put me over the edge." 

Pike looked at him sadly. He then nodded and clapped him on his shoulder. "You did real good today, son. There's always going to be people like Denvera who try to cut you down but you can't let it happen. If I hadn't taken you out you would've gotten thrown out by him. But this was just one game." 

Jim nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I know." 

"You’re pissed as hell right now," Pike told him to which Jim gave a small smirk. "And you should be but don't let this get you down. You did great today. Don't let asshats like that umpire make you feel inferior or wrong. You know what you did and why you did it and at the end of the day that's all that matters."

Jim felt his eyes dampen. He'd never really had anyone to look up to and now staring at Pike he felt warmth bubble in his chest. 

"Thank you."

"I'm here for you, son." With that Pike got up and walked off the bus. Jim watched him following him with his eyes as he walked back towards the clubhouse. He licked his lips feelings the knot that had made his stomach hurt all night dissipate. He was still mad, angry as hell, but he did feel better. Leaning his hot head against the cold window Jim waited holding his earbuds between his fingers. 

It was some time later the rest of the team tricked on and they were off to their nice hotel. Jim, by some miracle was not given a roommate and he couldn't have been happier. By the time Jim managed to face-plant down in his plush white bed he was ready to take a migraine pill even though his head felt fine. He just wanted to fall into the dark oblivion that came with a medicated heavy slumber. 

He was just about to drift off without even changing his clothes when there was a loud knock on his door. Jim stayed where he was hoping whoever it was would just go away but when the pounding continued he drug his body off the bed with a groan. He didn't even look through the peephole, just opened the door slightly. Jim jumped back in surprise when the door was flung open and people started filing into his room. 

"Alright!" Kevin yelled striding into the hotel room definitely waking up anyone on either side of Jim's room. He was followed into the room by a Sulu, Pavel, Mitchell, Olson, Thomas Harwood and a handful of other players who nodded at Jim as they passed. Somehow, Kevin had attained a bat and was wielding it threateningly. 

"Sure everyone, come in," Jim mumbled closing the door behind his teammates. As the door was shutting a hand flung out stopping its motion. Jim jerked back to see a slender pale hand stopping the door from closing. Spock's face appeared as he strolled in passing Jim with a slight nod to him. His hair was slightly damp and Jim could smell aftershave. He stuck his head out the room checking down both sides of the hall ensuring no other teammates were coming in before he closed the door. He weaved through the people in his room and sat down heavily on his bed. 

Jim's heart beat wildly in his chest. He felt like he was going to throw up. Why were they all here? "What the hell-"

"That guy was an _asshole_!" Kevin declared hitting his bat against his hand. "Those calls were shit. It's cheating! Straight up." 

"No one could've thrown a better game," Mitchell agreed crossing his arms with a frown. 

"It wasn't even a series game and it ain't like we really needed the win so why cheat?" O'Connel questioned looking through Jim's minibar. He shook his head and scoffed seeing there was no alcohol stored in the ice box. 

Pavel sat down next to Jim on his bed patting his shoulder warmly. Sulu came to stand by him crossing his arms. 

"I don't condone violence," Spock said suddenly. "However action must be taken immediately. Someone with so much bias should not have the ability to control games at our professional level."

Jim stared up at Spock with a dumbfounded expression painting his face. 

"Guys, guys, guys," Jim put his hands out in a placating manner. "Shit happens, right? We just, you know, need to move past it. What're we gonna go? Storm his house and hold him at-at," he pointed to the weapon in Kevin's hand, "bat point?"

"Hell yes!" Kevin called holding his bat aloft. 

"Come on Kev," Jim chuckled shaking his head. "You guys know my reputation. I don't blame Denvera for thinking nothing's changed. Everyone thinks I'm a cheater. Shit like that doesn't just go away."

"Oh come off it Jim," Mitchell sighed. "We know you’re innocent. Anyone with eyes could see that."

Jim's eyes widened, his mouth popped open and his eyebrows furrowed.

_What?_

"What?"

"It is true," Pavel nodded too enthusiastic at this time of night. "I have told zem some of it and zey understand." 

"The real question is," Kevin said loudly. "When are we gonna have that ump again 'cause I'm thinking a pitch straight to his gonads and dingleberries aught to do the trick. Straighten him up a bit."

The men around the room laughed and Jim couldn't stop his own smirk from gracing his face. Kevin continued on painting a mental picture of the perfect game to get their revenge. Sulu joined in some as did Mitchell when they had their own ideas to make it more painful for Denvera. The next time Jim looked at the clock an hour had passed and the guys were now laying around his room all in different stages of laughter and, at least on Jim's part, exhausted delirium. 

"Well gents," Sulu said clapping Pavel who was snoozing on his shoulder. "I think it's about time to hit the sack." 

"Agreed." Mitchell stood up from the ground snatching Kevin's bat that he had been setting his chin on making him slip and fall forward. "Let's go Babe Ruth."

They filed out of the room. Pavel gave him a sleepy hug before Sulu lead him out. Spock was the last left. He had not spoken much. He had leaned against the wall, arms crossed and eyes following the conversation. 

"Good night, Jim." He spoke softly then closed the door behind him before Jim could say anything back. With the door clicking shut Jim relaxed against his head board looking around his ruffled room. It had been a strange night. 


	8. Here Come the Vulcans

_Pick you up at six. Dress causal.  – LM_

Jim couldn't stop the grin that split his face as he looked at his phone with a towel still wrapped around his hips snugly. It was three o'clock in the afternoon on his first day off in weeks and his leisurely day of grocery shopping, catching up on _Survivor_ and taking a shower had just been interrupted in the best way possible. Jim quickly shot a text back in conformation. He knew he didn't have to rush but he still toweled off the rest of his wet body quickly and jumped into his clothes. He still needed groceries and to pick out an outfit.  _I'm such a girl_ , Jim giggled as he flipped his keys around his first finger and slipped his shoes on running out of the apartment almost forgetting to lock the door behind himself.

By the time the new food was put away and he was dressed and smelling good there was a loud knock on his door. Jim walked to the door slowly, forcing himself not to rush on the outside but jumping out of his skin on the inside. He opened the door to see Leonard standing there with a white button down shirt and jeans. His hands were stuffed in his pockets with the sleeves of his shirt folded up to just about his elbows. He looked like a lazy Sunday afternoon and it made Jim's mouth practically water at the sight. 

"Hey," Jim greeted. 

"Hey yourself kid." Leonard smiled back. They stood looking at one another for a comfortable moment longer before Leonard prompted, "You ready to go?"

Jim smiled, "Yeah, let me just grab my keys." He turned grabbing the apartment keys and his cell phone. He pocketed both and turned back to the tan man standing in his doorway. "Where are we going?" He asked as he closed the door and followed Leonard down the hall. 

"It's a surprise."

"I like surprises."

"Good, then you'll love this one." They both smiled at each other. Leonard led them off the elevator and out the door to a car waiting just outside. It was sleek and black and very expensive. 

The sun’s rays were low and dimming, just bright enough to still give off bits of heat as it descended into night fairly quickly. A slight breeze tousled the hair on Jim’s head that he had meticulously styled for the last half hour. 

"No driver today?" Jim questioned as he saw the driver’s side was empty and Leonard was currently taking a set of car keys out of his pocket. Leonard rolled his eyes shaking his head. 

"Thought I'd try driving. Haven't done it in years but I'm sure I still go it. Only been in a few accedents.”

Jim stopped with his hand on the car handle. Leonard chuckled batting his hand away so he could open the door for him. Jim stood back eyeing the older man skeptically. "I'm kidding, Jim. I drive all the time. My Mama raised a hard workin’ boy. Now come on before my gentleman-like manners run out." 

With a laugh Jim held his hands up in surrender and slid into the nice car.  The drive to where they were going was short and it only took a few minutes for Jim to recognize the route. It was different in a car as he usually walked but he knew the way like the back of his hand. 

"Please tell me you’re not taking us to the one place I go every day." Jim laughed when Leonard only smiled and said nothing. He pulled into a secure lot behind the stadium that Jim had never seen before then parked with the nose of his expensive _Lexus_ practically touching the stadium's front door. Jim turned his head to look above the car to see that this spot was reserved for the owner of the team. "I see prime parking spots are one of the perks of owning a professional ball club."  

"One of the many," Leonard smirked clicking out of his seat belt. Jim moved to open his own door when Leonard put his hand on his forearm stopping him. "Sit still kid." 

The car rocked slightly when Leonard closed his door and Jim's heart beat sped up. Leonard came over to his side opening his door with a wink. Jim looked away rubbing at the back of his neck to hide the blush that ran red down ears and neck. Neither of them spoke as they walked into the stadium. Leonard led him to an elevator that he had seen before but never actually been inside. When he did step in he was surprised to see how nice it was. Polished and clean. There was only one button that Leonard pushed before standing back. There wasn't any elevator music playing but rather a radio broadcaster’s voice speaking softly as background noise.

"Usually I like to have _SportsCenter_ on to listen to the game." Leonard said answering Jim’s unspoken question. He turned to the blonde man and looked at him in a way that made Jim shiver. "You look really good tonight. Clean up well." 

Jim opened his mouth to say something smooth back but when nothing came out of his suddenly dry mouth he closed it and Leonard chuckled. Jim berated himself until the doors opened with a ding and Leonard placed his hand on the small of Jim's back to lead him out. 

"Wow," Jim breathed seeing the room they had stepped into. It was huge, three television screens, a full bar and couches filled the giant space. There were posters of enlarged baseball cards hanging on the walls. Jim was sure he mouth was hanging open as his eyes drew to the floor to ceiling windows all across the wall facing him. Fading sunlight shown through lighting up the room. Jim walked over to it whispering something he wasn't even sure what. When he got to the window he was able to see the entire field. It was beautiful in the fading light. He could see home plate clear as day as well as have a perfect view right into the home team’s dugout. 

"So this is where you disappear to," Jim finally commented after some time. He could hear Leonard's smooth laugh behind him. 

"Jim." 

Jim turned seeing Leonard at the large table setting down two glasses of wine. The table was set and looked just about as fancy a table as Jim had ever seen. It certainly put his Hamburger Helper that he had been planning to eat tonight for dinner to shame. 

The blonde man walked to his chair which had been pulled out for him already. "You don't live here do you?" He questioned gesturing to a door off to the side. 

"No," Leonard's eyes were soft as he took his seat. "I actually have quite a nice apartment on the other side of the city. That's my office in there." 

The meal was delicious and Jim had to stop himself from moaning obscenely over a handful of times. They talked and laughed and Jim felt himself relaxing as Leonard smiled at him over his wine glass. Soon the sun set leaving their reflections to look back at them instead of the incredible view of _Joanna's Field_. 

"So Leonard," Jim set his glass down feeling his full stomach and alcohol still sitting nicely on his tongue. "Tell me something no one else knows about you." 

"Come on kid," the older man rolled his eyes. "This is only our first date." 

Jim bit his lips to stop the stupid smiled that threatened to split his face at the thought of there being more dates to come. 

"Aww come on old man, I'll tell you mine if you'll tell me yours," Jim used his best pouting face. 

"Alright, alright brat," Leonard mumbled. "I have a tattoo on my chest." 

"Of what?" 

"Bones."

"Bones?" Jim questioned with a raised eyebrow. 

"Yup," was all Leonard had to say back. Jim was just about to ask what he meant by that when his eye caught something strange. On the far back wall sat small photos framed in gold trimming. He noticed them before but hadn't given it much thought until now. Now as his eyes narrowed and he stood up, Jim could've sworn it was a picture of himself he was staring at. Leonard followed his line of sight seeing what had Jim's eyes so big. 

Jim stood up and slowly walked over to the wall with so many frames hanging, his eyes never leaving one of the pictures. 

"Is that... Is that my dad?" It was almost a mirror image of himself. The hair was darker and eyes not quite as breathtakingly blue but everything else seemed a carbon copy. The picture was a candid that caught George Kirk mid laugh. It's obviously taken on the field on a bright day. He has a ball clutched in tight to his right hand and was decked out in San Francisco blue. 

Leonard came to stand next to him folding his arms across his chest. "If I say yes would you think I was creepy?" 

"He looks so young." Jim remarked. 

"The old owner always kept signed pictures of his favorites here on the wall. I kept them all up because I think they look nice." Richard Roberu's picture was right next to George Kirk's and that made Jim's heart warm. 

"It's a good way to honor them. When my Dad died I saw his picture everywhere. All sorts of pictures of him playing," Jim recalled staring into the paper eyes of his father. "But they never showed this one. I don't think I've ever seen it." 

"Probably taken by the old owner." 

Jim turned from the picture tearing his eyes off of it to look at the handsome man at his side. Leonard turned to him with a small smile gracing his face. 

"I had a good time tonight," Jim licked his bottom lip. 

"Me too."

"Maybe next time you can take me to the other team’s locker room. Every date can be different parts of the stadium." 

That made Leonard give a hearty laugh. He brought his hands up to Jim's hips placing them lightly at his side. "Or we could try a nice restaurant."

"Only if you pay, mister money bags," Jim teased. 

"We'll see," Leonard whispered leaning in close. Jim closed his eyes and felt bliss as their lips touched. A warm feeling engulfed his heart causing him to melt against Leonard who took his weight like it was only natural. 

"I could get used to this," Jim whispered against the older man's lips. 

"Me too," Leonard mumbled back before leaning in once more. 

* * *

The moment Jim entered the clubhouse the next day he knew something was off. Not wrong necessarily but something didn't feel right. The other players milled about as usual but the atmosphere felt tense. _ESPN_ played quieter from the television screens and there seemed to be a hush over the whole room. Even the lights seemed dimmer, if that was possible. Jim threw his bag in his cubby then plopped down in the padded chair. Sulu smiled at him as he leaned back in his own chair with large headphones covering his ears starting his pre-game routine. 

Jim settled back as well. He still had a few hours before the first pitch and while he had a lot to do to get ready he felt strange. The clubhouse had never seemed so melancholy. 

From the corner of his eye he saw Spock leaving Pike's office with his head lowered and a stormy expression coloring his eyes. It was strange seeing the man's face so open, so expressive. Spock walked quickly from the office towards his cubby, grabbed a pair of running shoes and was off again towards the gym that was just down the hall. Jim thought that was odd, not that Spock was working out before a game but he never usually started this early. They had hours yet. Jim leaned towards Sulu patting his arm. The black haired man startled being pulled from his meditative state. He removed one earphone from his right ear. 

"What?"

Motioning to Spock's retreating form Jim nodded at him, "What's up with him?"

Sulu turned his head just in time to see Spock disappear behind the gym doors. He sighed dramatically and shook his head leaning back in his comfortable position in his chair. His eyes were closing once more as his said casually, "We're playing _Vulcan_." 

That one word hit Jim like an ice pick and he sighed. He mumbled an, "Oh, right," but Sulu was already back to his music and solitude. Jim could have punched himself, all week they had been watching film and talking strategy and it had never really occurred to him what this game would mean for Spock. Now that he was thinking about it he could barely recall seeing the slightly taller man for the past few days. 

Jim sat for a few minutes contemplating what, if anything, he should do. He knew that if he were in this situation he would tell people that he wanted to be left alone. But inwardly he would be begging for someone to come and help him, to talk to him, to tell him everything would be okay. But no one really ever came running after Jim Kirk so why should he go running after other people?

He sat for about five minutes more convincing himself that Spock probably didn't want to be bothered. They weren't even really friends for Christssake! Other members of the ball club, people who knew him better, could go after him. They could check on him. He didn't need to. What he needed to do was focus. This was going to be a big game

 _Focus_ , he told himself settling back in his chair for the second time. 

 _Focus_.

_Focus_

"Damnit." Jim stood up from his chair with a scowl and growled at himself. With measured steps so as to not look like he was rushing Jim made his way to the door and pulled it open. He entered the hallways that led to the gym. As he drew closer to a corner he heard voices, one that sounded distinctly feminine who was whispering. Jim slowed down just before the turn that led to the gym as a male voice – Spock's voice – answered back the woman. Standing still and practically holding his breath Jim listened feeling slightly like a spy and wholly like an intruder. 

"What is it, what do you need?" The feminine voiced asked. With a jolt, Jim realized it was Uhura talking. 

Interesting, Jim mused leaning against the wall. 

"I need everyone to continue preforming adequately." Spock's voice was low and toneless. It physically hurt Jim to listen to him talk sounding so down. 

There was silence, the rustling of clothing and Uhura whispered so low that Jim barely heard her. "Oh, Spock."

Then silence. The door to the clubhouse opened abruptly making Jim jump and jerk away from the wall. He turned seeing Harwood in his pregame workout gear. Jim crossed his arms trying to assume the persona of being totally casual. He nodded at the dark skinned man who gave him a quick smile and continued walking down the hall. 

Jim contemplated the merits of continuing to eavesdrop on the two but decided after two seconds that Spock seemed to be taken care of for the moment. He could always sneak a quick word with him before the game if he still looked like someone kicked his puppy. Turning on his heel Jim walked back towards the clubhouse thinking about the conversation he had just overheard. Spock and Uhura? Jim chuckled at himself thinking on how there couldn't have been a better match made. 

The hours before the game started were uneventful and filled with the regular pregame workout, listening to music, a pep talk from Pike and a quick kiss to his lucky ball before everyone was headed toward the alley to take the field. 

"Hey Spock!" Jim called before the man could go down the walkway. Spock turned slowly with eyes that seemed so human compared to his emotionless face. 

"Hey man," he started quickly when the last person tricked out of the clubhouse. "Look, I know we're playing _Vulcan_  tonight but don't be scared okay? You got this. You're better than them. You can run circles around them any day. You can catch any ball. For real, man."

He ended his small slightly un-motivational speech breathlessly. Spock gazed at him for a moment tilting his head. His face seemed to light up very slightly. 

"I do not understand what running circles around their players has to do with beating them in baseball."

The muscles around Spock's eyes relaxed. It seemed like it was his version of a smile. 

"Spock," Jim puffed shaking his head and feeling a lump in his chest loosen. He placed a hand on his shoulder looking at the black haired man sincerely. "Just... Show them how bad of an idea it was to trade you, alright?" He smiled then padded him on the back and walked off. Spock was left standing there staring after him with one eyebrow raised. 

The game started in a deadlock with _Enterprise_ scoring twice in the second inning and _Vulcan_ charging back to tie it up in the fourth. By the sixth inning Jim's shoulder was starting to twinge uncomfortably as he threw his fast balls. He was throwing everything he had at the batters to try to keep the game even until _Enterprise_ could come up to bat. 

"Strike Three!" 

 _Thank God_ , Jim thought to himself keeping his face perfectly blank but starting to feel tired under his skin. The _Vulcans_ were no joke. They were a force of stoic faces, strong builds and of course excellent ball playing. There was a reason they were ranked so high and were such big contenders to win the World Series every year. 

"How's the shoulder?" Scotty questioned when Jim took a seat on the bench. Jim spit onto the floor of the dugout then rubbed it with his foot. 

"Peachy" 

Scotty frowned, "Listen laddy, now I don' bet ya still go some juice left but why don' we let Mitchell give it a go?"

"Scotty!" Jim looked at him in disbelief. "I've got the best fast ball on the team and so far that's what they can't seem to hit." He could feel his face redden in anger. "If you take me out we lose. I'm fine," he added at the end then flung his throwing arm around to show that it would still be moved and hid the wince that went with jarring it so violently. Scotty shook his head and rolled his eyes muttering about how he needed a sandwich if he was going to have to deal with insubordinate Pitchers. 

By the eighth inning Jim was really starting to run out of steam. They were still tied and the fans were going crazy with every pitch and every crack of the ball against bat. There was one out and Jim was reaching the bottom of the barrel to find the strength he needed for just a few more throws. In the beginning of the game the _Vulcans_ were having problems with his fast ball but now it seemed like they had studied him enough to see them coming. He needed to switch it up. 

The runner on third bounced on his feet, face passive and legs ready to win the game for _Vulcan_. 

Hendorff, because Pavel had been taken out in the top of the fifth, signaled for a fast ball to which Jim shook his head slowly. He then put up his fingers for a slider and Jim nodded. He hadn't done many of those. Best try to throw this batter off. 

He wound up, his leg muscles straining, then he threw curving his wrist and watching the ball slide across the plate and hearing a _pop!_ from his shoulder. 

There was a crack as the ball was hit right at the Pitcher’s mound. In less than a split second Jim put his glove out and snatched it. He tried to tear it from glove but found it stuck in the webbing. The third base runner had already taken off and was sprinting hard for home. Jim didn't even have enough time to say _fuck it_ before he tore off his glove, sprinted a few feet before tossing the ball and glove with his right hand towards Hendorff who caught the glove with his own not a second before the batters foot touched home plate. The home plate umpire threw their wrist up and pointed at the two Vulcan players and yelled.

"Out!"

“Out!”

The crowed exploded. Jim tried to catch his breath feeling his shoulder bent at an odd angle that he was used to but still hurt like a bitch. While all the guys on the field started to jog in Jim walked trying not to jar his arm until it could be popped back into place. 

"Hey man good job with that-" Jim let out a small yelp as Sulu patted him on the shoulder when they neared the _Enterprise's_ bench. "Whoa what the hell? Trainer! We need a doc!" Sulu called seeing the way Jim's shoulder curved at the wrong angle and he hunched in on himself. 

"I'm fine. I'm fi- no! Don't touch it!" Jim growled when Sulu tried to guide him onto the bench. The team's physician, Philip Boyce, jogged over to him and leaned over to assess his shoulder. On the other side of the field the _Vulcan_ players had already taken the field to warm up for the inning. Gerold Davidson, a lefty for _Enterprise_ was swinging his bat around on deck as he waited. Everyone who wasn't getting ready to hit seemed to be staring at Jim and it made his blood boil. "I'm fine!"

"Your fucking shoulder is facing the wrong direction!" Mitchell yelled at him. Scotty stood off to the side arms crossed and eyes that if they could they would be tearing him apart. 

"Just pop it back into place," Jim growled when Boyce touched his shoulder none too gently. Boyce was a good man and an even better physician with his warm eyes and skillful hands however right now he just wanted the son of a bitch to pop it back into place so his eyes could stop misting with unshed tears. He wasn't a cry baby damnit it just hurt like hell. 

Pike came up behind Boyce with a raised brow. "Well doc? What's the diagnosis?"

Standing back up Boyce put his hands on his hips. In his calm voice he said, "Well he's popped his shoulder out of place. Come on Kirk, let's go."

"Just pop it back in here there's no need to go-"

"That's not how it works here, Kirk," Pike placated to which Jim relented. Whatever, he was just going to be a distraction to the team sitting here anyways. And besides, he didn't bat so there's not much he could do to help. Gently he eased himself up shooing the helping hands that tried to guide him. Together Jim and Boyce walked gingerly down the ally towards the training room. 

It took all of about four seconds for Boyce to crack the shoulder back into place and Jim to bite his lip so hard it bled. 

"This happen often?"

"Maybe about twice a season," Jim shrugged with one shoulder. Boyce wrote something down on the iPad he used to keep track of all the players injuries and health. He scrolled for a few seconds before lightly asking, "Any reason why that isn't listed in your medical file?" 

Playing with the small tooth shapes gash on his lip Jim shrugged again. "Must've escaped my mind when we were doing physicals."

Boyce eyed him dully placing a hand on his hip and the iPad on the table. Boyce shooed out the other trainers who stood around waiting to be told what to do. When the last one left closing the door behind himself the doctor turned to stare at Jim.  In the corner a muted television playing the game live. Boyce, voice always calm and demeanor passive brought Jim’s attention back to him.

"Well I want to run you under an X-ray to make sure there's no damage then you're going to be out for a week to rest your shoulder."

"A week what-"

"And maybe in that week you can come up with a better story that goes along with all the clusters of scars across your hips and on your back. Hopefully that won't escape your mind." 

Jim was speechless opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Of course the scars on his back where hard to miss but on his hips... how did he...?

"I am very observant, Kirk. It comes with the job description," Boyce was speaking low now. If anyone were to come into the training room they probably wouldn't have been able to hear anything. "I know past abuse when I see it and I know self-harm. Now I'm not going to pry but I just wanted to let you know that I know some great therapists who are discreet and trustworthy and can be paid for by the _Enterprise_ Ball Club." Jim opened his mouth to say something - what, he wasn't so sure but Boyce put his hands up in surrender. "Just something to think about."

He then turned around to throw a sling at Jim who caught it with his left hand. 

"Wear that for four days, sit out a week and I'll keep my mouth closed about you.”

Helping Jim put his shirt back on then the sling on over his clothing Boyce stayed quiet as did Jim. For this being the first time Jim had ever even spoken to Boyce he was equal parts impressed and intimidated. 

"Thank you," Jim whispered when they were done fashioning the sling so it was comfortable. Boyce smiled at Jim for the first time. 

"Anytime, Jim. Be good, we're all rooting for you."

Above them the ceiling seemed to shake as the entire stadium screamed and the crowed jumped around. Jim looked over at the TV seeing Harwood sprint into home followed soon by Spock who jogged around the bases after his home run. 

 _Enterprise_ had won. 

Hours later after they had all celebrated, eaten, been checked out by the trainers and showered, the club house was just about empty. Jim took his time packing up his bag with one arm. He'd already thought about taking the sling off half a million times but never did. He just got done zipping up his backpack listening to the Beastie Boys through one ear bud when a voice startled him from behind. 

"I was not traded because I was playing satisfactory." Spock said. Jim stood up taking his ear bud out. 

"What?"

Spock's face gave nothing away. Not a twitch. "I was not traded to _Enterprise_ from _Vulcan_ because they did not like how I was preforming." A quizzical look passed over Jim's features. "I thought I read that-"

"As you well know the newspapers are not always completely accurate."

Jim waited for Spock to continue knowing that he had intentionally waited for the clubhouse to clear out. Usually Spock was one of the first to head out after a game. Spock had wanted to talk to him. 

The man before him looked immaculate as always. His hair was slightly damp from his shower and the tip of his nose was reddened from the afternoon games they'd had the last week. Jim kept his mouth shut fearing that if he spoke Spock would decide he wasn't worth sharing his story to. Finally, after it seemed like Spock took a small barley-there breath to collect himself he said, "I was traded after an... altercation between myself and another player."

"You... hit someone?" Just asked slowly trying to imagine Spock ever punching someone let alone one of those emotionless dirt-balls with bats shoved up their asses. Spock simply nodded looking more and more uncomfortable with every word he spoke. 

"Stonn, that was his name-"

"Their third baseman?" Jim interrupted to which Spock nodded. 

"Yes, I had made an error and he was angered. He insulted my mother and I could not stop myself."

Jim's heart sank. He knew about Spock's mother. When the baseball commissioners wife is killed in a car accident on the way home from her son's professional baseball game everyone hears about it. Jim had been too strung out on not giving a fuck about anything when he had seen the breaking news on ESPN. He remembered feeling sad for a minute before a handsome blonde with big hands, a deep voice, and promises of a good time had caught his eye. Thinking about that now makes him sick. Knowing what Spock probably went through with his mom dying and dad resigning then being traded to San Francisco must've been hard. 

"I'm sorry, Spock." He said lowly. 

"There is nothing for you to apologize for. I simply wished to inform you of the circumstances in which I was traded. I overreacted and lashed out and was treated thusly."

"Spock," Jim shook his head in disbelief. "You don't really believe that do you? That asshole said the thing he knew would hurt you and you got angry. It's bullshit that you were traded and he wasn't." He could feel himself starting to get angry as he thought about it. Spock, his mother dead and this guy who is supposed to be his teammate getting in his face, insulting his mother then Spock being the one forced to leave. It was a wad of smelly bullshit. "I hope you punched him good actually you know what-" Jim grabbed his jacket forgetting he only had one shoe on and started to walk towards the field hallway. "Let's go see this asshole now I'm sure he's still there and I haven't hit anyone in a long time-"

"Jim," a hand on his good shoulder stopped his furious walk to the door. Spock looked him deeply in the eye with a tilt of his head that spoke so much without words. 

"You're right," Jim lamented. "Besides, tomorrow is the second of our three game series. There's plenty of time to wreck some havoc on this pebble guy."

"Stonn."

"Stone?"

"Jim."

"Okay whatever it doesn't matter what his name is he's not gonna know what hit him."

That same little twitch at the sides of Spock's lips happened again as his eyes twinkled. Jim took it as Spock's equivalent of a smile then chalked that up to a win. 

"Come on Spock, let me buy to a beer."

"I do not drink."

"Well then come with me to a bar and you can buy me a drink."

"I do not think-"

"Let’s go Spoky!"

Jim shoved his foot into his shoe, flipped his bag up onto his shoulder then grabbed Spock's elbow. Spock's eyes grew comically wide as he was led out the door. 


	9. Movable Mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaaaaaaack! Did ya miss me!? (probably not but I missed you!) Here is another chappie of the exciting life of Pro Baseball Player Jim Kirk!

Jim gratefully handed the stupid sling back to one of Boyce's assistants with a smirk on his face and relief in his heart. The assistant whose name Jim didn't know took it, asked some basic questions to which Jim answered truthfully. 

 _Yes,_ he had worn it the entire time.

 _No_ , he didn't need it anymore. 

 _Yes_ , it helped. 

 _No_ , _I'm not feeling any pain_. 

 _Yes_ , _I feel healthy enough to be put back on the roster._  

The man let him go with a nod. Jim basically skipped out the room and down the hall. It had been a long week of bench warming but now he was back and ready to roll. _Enterprise_ had just won a hard game against the _Orion's_ last night and the team was feeling giddy with excitement. Today was technically the player’s day off but Jim had to come in to be cleared which he did gladly. He had also accidently left his ball inside his cubby last night and needed to grab that before they left to head to Florida for their next game in a few days. As he walked out of the clubhouse he almost ran headfirst into a pleasantly scented broad chest. 

"We need to stop meeting this way," Leonard chuckled grabbing Jim's shoulder to steady him. Jim smiled up at the man - boyfriend? Was Leonard into titles? Were they technically dating? Jim thought for all of about three seconds before leaning in and planting a kiss on Leonard's soft lips. Leonard deepened the kiss and with a few swipes of his tongue Jim opened his mouth and Leonard shoved his warm tongue practically down his throat. The kiss was heady and hot and Jim moaned softly when Leonard ran his fingers over his jean covered ass. Eventually Leonard peppered Jim's swollen lips with little pecks before pulling away. He was out of breath and his lips were red as he smiled at Jim. 

"Probably not the smartest idea to do this here," he nodded to where they were in the hallway just outside the clubhouse. Jim leaned against Leonard's chest grabbing his nice shirt between his fingers. "Probably not. But you're just _so hot_." 

He hadn't mean to say the second part but it seemed like words just left his mouth without meaning to anytime he was around the older man. They kissed a few more times before Leonard took Jim's hand in his. 

"Want a tour?"

"Of what?"

"The stadium," Leonard chuckled. "I told you I'd give you one when you were free. You look pretty free right now." 

Jim nodded in agreement and they went off. Leonard showed Jim all the places he was never allowed to go or hand even known excited before. There was a huge conference room just beside the visiting teams dug out had television screens as big as windows. They were all turned off now but Leonard told him they were so the trustees and coaches could watch recordings of games when they were trying to choose who to trade or who to bring up from the minors. Or a game was playing when they were scheduled to have a meeting, but that didn’t happen often, according to Leonard.

Above the stands there were very nice rooms with couches and televisions and a balcony to watch the game. Leonard told him there were ten rooms that looked exactly like the one they were in and they were reserved for special guests and season ticket holders who were willing to pay extra to sit in luxury during the games. Jim then asked if he could be a special guest with a wink in his eye and Leonard had his back pressed up against a wall and was devouring his mouth a moment later. 

It took hours and the sun was setting by the time they made it back to the entrance to the clubhouse. Both of their lips were swollen red and Jim had to force his hard on down a couple times. Sex between the two would come but it wouldn't be a quick rump in a guest room if Jim had anything to say about it. 

"I just need to grab a few things," Jim said over his shoulder as he walked into the clubhouse and over to his stall. Leonard looked around not having been inside the locker room for a long time. He took a seat at someone's cubby watching Jim's backside as he leaned into his cubby. 

Suddenly the line of Jim’s shoulders tensed and his movements became jerky. He started to mutter to himself but Leonard couldn’t hear what he was saying. Jim’s chest, Leonard could see, began pumping harshly with each loud breath he took.

"Jim?" Leonard questioned getting up. Jim frantically threw a bag out of his cubby and kicked his chair away. "Jim!?"

"Where is it? Where's my ball?!" Jim's voice was high, his face red and breath coming fast. His eyes were a bright, terrified blue as he continued to search. 

Leonard rushed over with his hands up and adrenaline pumping as if he were about to preform emergency surgery. “What’s wrong? Did you loose –”

“It’s gone!” Jim practically shrieked tossing his neatly folded uniform shirt across the room. “My ball… It’s-It’s…”

Leonard tried to calm him, "Chill out kid, it's just a ball-"

But Jim wasn't listening. He tore his stall apart searching. A shirt flew this was as pants flew that way and bag that were once filled with equipment and tape were upended. Jim didn't care about anything but finding the ball his father had given him. He'd promised never to lose it. He'd promised to always keep it with him.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Goddamnit!_

Jim could feel himself start to hyperventilate, he gripped his hair digging his stubby nails into the soft flesh of his head and squeezing trying to stop the panic attack that threatened him.  

"It's not just a ball!" He exploded at Leonard throwing his cleats across the floor. Socks came next then his spandex and then the entire drawer full of equipment was dumped on the once pristine carpet. He jerked around wildly when his cubby was absolutely empty and still no ball was found. Angry tears flooded his eyes, his heart clenched to the point of stopping in his chest. There were suddenly bans around his chest, he couldn't breathe. He'd lost it. It was gone. What had he done?

"Hold on, hold on," Leonard was suddenly in his face pushing him down in one of the chairs and pressing his head until it went between his legs. His arms rubbed at his back as he sat down on one knee in front of him. "Where did you see it last?"

Jim felt sick, he was going to throw up. He couldn't breathe, the air was too thick for this small lungs. He pointed up to the top shelf of his locker where he'd always stored his father’s lucky ball. "There." 

Leonard stood up keeping a hand on Jim's shoulder to look inside the shelving area. There was nothing as Jim had already cleared everything away in his mad destruction looking for it. Out of his periphery, Jim saw Leonard lick his lips while a line formed between his eyebrows. He spun around and practically ran towards the ball bin. Jim would have found it funny watching Leonard run in his nice jacket and slacks but he was too busy trying not to throw up. 

Where had he seen it last? Who took it? He promised, he promised he wouldn't lose it. It was the last thing he had that Frank didn't throw away when his mom died. That was it. That ball was all he had and he lost it. He lost it. He lost it. 

Suddenly there were hands on his shoulder bringing his face up and a ball with George Kirk's messy scrawl slightly smeared on it shoved in front of his face. Jim was stunned feeling tears run down his face. 

"It was in the ball carrier to get cleaned," Leonard was breathing hard. "Someone must'a seen it and thought it was a game ball."

Jim took it gingerly making sure it was the right one. Sure enough, after looking it over seeing all of the familiar scrapes and scuffs his foggy brain confirmed it was his ball. He pressed the ball into his forehead closing his eyes and trying to get his breathing under control. "Thank you," he whispered to both God and Leonard. 

Wordlessly Leonard began picking up Jim's things and placing them back into the cubby. Nyota would have a field day if she came in to see the mess they had made. Leonard looked at Jim whose hands were still shaking as he held the ball tightly. 

It only took a couple of minutes to clean up and when he was done Leonard helped Jim to his feet grabbing his backpack and helping Jim get it over his shoulders. Together they walked out of the clubhouse and to the open air. The sun was completely gone by the time Leonard closed the door behind Jim. Jim took a deep breath of the open air feeling stupid. 

"Why's it so special, if you don't mind me asking." Leonard questioned breaking the silence that had fallen on them. 

"My, uh, dad gave it to me," his voice was hoarse so he cleared his throat before speaking again. "He, uh, well he-he gave it to me the night he was killed. We went into the clubhouse and he smiled and handed it to me then told my mom and I to wait outside."

"Oh," was all Leonard said. 

"Yeah... It's really all I have left from him. It's my lucky ball.... It's really stupid, I-I know." He felt his face heat with embarrassment. 

"No Jim, it's not-"

"We were with some of the other families outside the old stadium that night." He didn't know what made him want to keep speaking but he did feeling Leonard's strong presence at his side as he sat down with his back leaned against the stone wall. He took his backpack off setting it aside as Leonard sat down next to him.  "We were all waiting for the guys to come out so we could celebrate winning, at least that's what my mom told me we were doin'. I was really young. I don't remember much but I remember the gun shots and people screaming. I remember my mom crying and I just held this stupid ball in my hand waiting for my dad to come out, to tell us what was happening. I was so confused."

"Oh, Jim-"

"Mom never really got over it. She was sick for years and... It was just not easy at home. Then she met this guy Frank and it all just got worse."

A gust of wind blew Jim's hair to the side. A car horn honked and people yelled at each other a ways from the stadium. 

"Uh, listen I have to go." Jim said after they had sat in silence for a few minutes. He stood up quickly leaving Leonard on the group. He itched the back of his neck.  "Thanks for the, uh, tour. We should do it again sometime. Hopefully next time I won’t have, like a mental breakdown out here uh, again. Seems to be happenin’ a lot lately and uh… sorry." And he was off not looking back leaving the mess behind him to deal with tomorrow and holding the ball tightly in his shaking hands. 

Jim got as far as the front gate before he realized he hadn't grabbed his backpack. He didn't want to go back there, not yet. He closed his eyes fighting back the suffering tears that begged to fall and stood still wishing he was anywhere but in the stadium. Wishing this was five years ago and he could just put his thumb out on the highway and some person who'd known him since grade school would pick him up for a ride home. 

Footsteps clicked against the cement ground behind him but Jim didn't move until they got closer. "Jim," Leonard voice said softly. He turned seeing the man and his bag in his hand. Leonard offered the bag to Jim silently.

Swallowing hard, Jim took his bag hiking it up on his shoulder and biting hard on his lip. "Thanks."

“You’re welcome.”

Jim scratched the back of his neck feeling bare and wrung out, “Listen Leonard I-I’ve got problems and some heavy baggage and I don’t think –”

Leonard surged forward capturing Jim's lips in a hard slightly-awkward kiss. Jim froze for a second before his brain caught up and he relaxed into the older man's lips. He sighed feeling Leonard do the same as he brought his hands up to rest on Jim's hips possessively. Jim opened his mouth slightly as Leonard tongue ran along the seam of his lips. Their tongues clashed together for only a few moments before Leonard moved his head back breaking the kiss. Jim felt elated and slightly dizzy. The older man brought one hand up to run through Jim's sweaty hair then rested his hand on the back of his neck. He brought his lips close to Jim's right ear and whispered so close he could feel his mouth tickle the shell of his ear.

"Next time you get to pay for dinner." 

Then the man turned and walked away. Jim shook his head closing his eyes and rolling his neck. His lips tingled and the feeling in his gut told him something amazing had just happened. His eyes still stung from his panic attack and he realized with a shutter that he was exhausted and too emotional to handle the feelings he felt as he watched Leonard's swaying hips as he walked away.

* * *

The first game Jim got to play in was an easy one against the _Mets_. By the time the sixth inning came around Jim had been taken out not because he hadn't been preforming well but so the other pitchers could get a chance to play. They were already up by eight runs and it wasn't looking like the _Mets_ were coming back any time soon. 

On Jim's last throw of the inning Pavel called for a fast ball. Jim, still feeling strong from his week of not being able to blow off any energy decided to throw as hard as he could. At the last second Pavel moved his arm strangely. The ball slammed into his forearm before flinging aside. There was the distinct sound of ball hitting skin and Jim winced feeling his own arm sting in sympathy. 

"Is he gonna rub it?" Jim could hear the guys from the bench jeer. "Is he gonna rub it?" Pavel was a little slower throwing the ball back to Jim but otherwise he acted as if nothing had happened. 

By the time the inning ended Jim caught up with Pavel as they jogged back to the bench. 

Pavel assessed his arm with excitement at the bruise already forming, "Jim... Jim! Look!" 

They stepped down into the dugout and Pavel was quickly surrounded. McKenna grabbed Pavel's arm in awe, "You can count the stitches!"

One of the outfields grabbed his arm, "Fuck Chekov. Is that from-"

"From ze pitch yes. You throw very hard, Jim." He said grinning looking over at the pitcher. 

Jim crossed his arms watching as the guys fawned over Pavel's arm.

"Shit man that bruise is gonna look awesome!" Sulu exclaimed excitedly.

“I gotta take a picture for snapchat after the game, man,” Gary Mitchell commented.

"You’re one tough son of a bitch, Chekov,” Hendorff nodded his head in approval. 

Jim sat back ready to rest the remainder of the game as Pavel practically beamed in the attention. At the plate, Spock hit a fast ball past third and began sprinting as the crowd roared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos ridiculously appreciated!


	10. More Than A Game

Arms pumping, chest heaving, and legs hitting the treadmill, Jim tried to block out the other guys in the gym. _Enterprise_ had done well tonight, they'd won if only barely, but Jim just didn't feel like he had played his best. He'd let multiple batters almost get home runs. If it hadn't been for Spock's strong legs they would have rounded the bases with no problem. Spock was practically leading the league with stolen homers. 

Jim felt his legs burn brightly with each step he took but he kept going. He ran and ran trying desperately to forget about how easily that _Indians_ player had sniped a hit off his fast ball at the top of the fifth. It was stupid how they had won. It shouldn’t have been possible to pull it off. They had all made stupid choices and done stupid things and Jim just felt really… well, stupid. How the hell was he supposed to show everyone that he was this hot-shot ball player when even their first hitter can get a double off of him?

Jim closed his eyes as he ran forcing himself to take a deep, thoughtful breath. Sweat ran down his back. More sweat than a normal post-game workout. Before long Jim started to calm down. He decided he was being stupid and turned down the machine until he was fast walking to cool down. He hadn't done well but there was always tomorrow and killing himself in the gym would just mess up his tomorrow. 

The earbuds in Jim's ears blasted music that seemed to get louder and louder as he calmed himself down until he was forced to take them out, he hadn’t realized how loud it had been. Breathing heavily, Jim looked up at the TV screens that played Sports Center Live. Two of the announcers were talking about the game _Enterprise_ had just played and Jim rolled his eyes as the woman brought up his record from Iowa. It didn't matter how well he ever did. No one would ever forget Iowa City. Jim leaned against the treadmill listening to the woman with too much makeup and hair extensions spout off about things she didn't even know or understand. His blood was just starting to boil again when he noticed someone on the other end of the room running on the treadmill. He was running hard, sweat making his shirt stick to his back and stains coloring the shirt in a darker hue. The man's dark skin glistened under the fluorescent lighting fixtures placed all around the large room. For a few minutes Jim just stared before something caught his eye. The man was shaking. Not the normal shaking that came with running hard but shaking violently from his shoulders down his back. Casually, Jim walked over noticing that they were the only two left in gum. Everyone else was either in the showers or eating the spread of food Nyota had procured for them. 

Getting closer Jim recognized the man as Thomas Harwood, third baseman and a man with a lot on his plate. Everyone knew about his daughter fighting cancer and his wife who hadn't left their little girls side in months. A lot of charity work _Enterprise_ did went to cancer research because of Harwood. Jim stopped just to the side of Harwood and waited to be recognized or acknowledged. When, after a few minutes the darker man hadn't said a thing Jim got closer and noticed that Harwood’s face was wet not from sweat but from tears. He was crying. 

"Harwood?" Jim tried tentatively. He didn't usually come up on his teammates crying in the weight room. Thomas didn't so much as look at him just kept up his brutal pace with his eyes staring forward, slightly glazed. 

Jim ran a hand through his hair. Thomas was running so hard, so fast, it wasn't safe. And he wasn't wearing anything in his ears, he should have been able to hear him or at least look at him. 

"Harwood?" 

Nothing. The man kept going and Jim's heart sped up in his chest as Thomas began to cry harder and the treadmill went fast responding to his legs. Licking his lips then biting his tongue Jim finally couldn’t take it anymore. 

"Harewood! Harewood!" He yelled coming up closer to the man's side. His sweaty arm brushed Jim's chest. "Thomas stop!" Jim yelled frantically in his face when the man didn't stop. Thomas kept going and Jim made a decision and ripped the safety cord from the machine. It started to stop gradually as the power was cut off. With each step slower than the last Harwood sank lower and lower until he fell and Jim jumped forward to catch him before the slowing treadmill could throw him off the end. 

In his arms Thomas sobbed burying his head into Jim's chest. 

"What am I gonna do?" He sobbed. "What am I gonna do?" Thomas grabbed a handful of Jim's shirt and cried hard. Jim let him holding him close the way others had done to him when he broke down. Jim prayed that no one would come into the room because he knew that Thomas needed this and Jim... yeah, Jim kinda needed this too. 

It could have been minutes or hours later until Thomas finally calmed down enough to sit up, sniff at the snot in his nose and rub at his swollen eyes. They sat staring at each other for a moment longer before Jim broke the silence. 

"How is this going to help your wife or your kid?" It was a low blow but Thomas had to know that running ragged wasn't going to help solve anything.

Sometimes, Jim wished he could take his own advice. 

"You think killing yourself in here is going to help? What happens when you get hurt and you can't provide for them anymore because you're benched?" 

"Lucille's sick, Kirk.," Thomas's voice was rough like sandpaper. Like glass shifting together. Like a father who just wanted everything to be okay. "Cancer. Fucking cancer... and there's nothing they can do. She's going to die." Fresh tears swam in his eyes. Jim put a hand on his shoulder and tried to think of something, anything to make this man feel better. Jim didn’t know what could have triggered Thomas’s breakdown. He could remember back when his mom got sick and they told him it was terminal that practically anything had set him off. He could remember walking towards the pitching mound after he’d gotten the news of how bad her diagnosis was and smelling a gust of perfume from some lady sitting in the front row and suddenly his mother was all he could think about the entire game. She might not have been a good mother but she had been the only one who ever even tried to care about him. When she had died Jim felt like a part of him had died too. He was alone in the world with only Frank and his meaty fists and crooked smile for a family.

Jim grabbed hold of Thomas’s hand. The two of them hadn’t really spoken much but Jim knew the pain of losing someone close to him and he really hoped Thomas didn’t have to feel what he had felt. “I lost my mom when I was younger.”

Thomas looked at him with sympathy. Jim never spoke about his mother, “I’m sorry, Jim.”

Jim shrugged trying to seem nonchalant, “She wasn’t around much growing up but when she got sick she started to tell me about all of the things she wanted to do before she died. All these things she wanted to do with me and my step dad. It’s funny actually, how she couldn’t give a shit about me when she was healthy but when they told her she only had a few months to live suddenly she was all about family trips and love.”

“Jim-”

"My point is, Thomas,” he cut off, “Is that you gotta have faith, man. Your daughter… she’s at the best place for treatment and she watches her Dad on TV almost every night. And you love her and you show her your love every day not because she’s sick but because you truly love her. Keep your head up,” Jim squeezed Thomas’ hand. “We're a team, Thomas, and we're here for you and your family, okay?" 

"I'm trying... I'm trying so hard..." Thomas looked up at the ceiling as tears ran down his cheeks. "I feel like I'm here but I want to be there, with her. Then when I'm with her all I can think about is being here making money to get her better medicine and better things. She loves watching me play baseball but when I'm playing I just want to be with her."

"Does she know you love her?"

Thomas looked at him confused, "Of course she-"

"No," Jim interrupted, "Does she really, _really_ know that you love her and that you will do anything for her? Does she know that you think she is the most important person in your life? Does she know what you do for her every day?"

After a pause Thomas whispered, "I-I think so."

"Tell her every day. Because right now that's all you can do. The Doctors will handle her sickness and do everything they can and you just have to be there for her. Show her your love and tell her every chance you get that no matter what you are going to be there for her." Jim felt his own eyes fill with tears.

Thomas sniffed letting Jim’s hand go to rub his eyes with sweaty fists. "Look at this," he laughed to stop the crying. "Jim Kirk consoling me. Never thought I'd see the day." 

"Don't get used to it, this is a one time. You get one breakdown before you have be there for your daughter. Show her you care and you're already half way there. Trust me, having parents who don't give a fuck is pretty shitty." 

Jim smiled at Harwood, a soft knowing smile that spoke of many things. Slowly Jim started to stand offering his hand to Thomas.

"Thanks Kirk." Thomas murmured fisting his eyes again. 

"Anytime." Jim smiled. "Now come on, that spread is calling our names." 

Later, when the food was eaten and put away and the clubhouse was just about empty save for Spock who was speaking to Uhura and a few others who were watching Sports Center Jim leisurely packed up his backpack and placed his ball inside before zipping it up tight. He looked over his stall one last time seeing his well-used ball cap and other nick-knacks neatly placed in all of their right spots.

"Hey, uh, Kirk?" Jim turned at the tentative voice seeing Thomas standing behind him in his civvies. He looked nervous. "Yeah, Harwood?"

"Lucille my... my daughter she... she's a big fan of yours." Jim didn't understand why the man was acting so shy. He had held him practically an hour ago whilst he sobbed in his arms. If you couldn't become bros with a guy after something like that than you never could. "Anyways… she-she told me she really likes watching you play and, uh, she wants to, uh, meet you and-"

"I'd love to meet her, Thomas." Jim smiled.

Thomas’s eyes lit up like a proud and excited father’s would. "Really? Great! That's real great I didn't, you know, you never really do autographs or meet and greets or interviews so I didn't know if you just didn't like meeting people or what but she-she's going to be so excited. She'll be here on Thursday before the game."

"Thursday?"

"Yeah, Thursday she's throwing out the first pitch of the game then she has to go back but she's going to be so excited!”

Jim smiled, he couldn't help it. His heart warmed in a way he had never felt before as he watched this man get so excited thinking about how happy his daughter would be. 

"It's no problem. Bring her down here before the game and let her see all your stuff and the guys down here. She'll love that too."

"Yeah Jim. Yeah. She'll love it thank you, thank you really."

Jim laughed shaking his head. With a broad smile he said, "It's no problem." 

And he smiled for the rest of the night not even stopping when Leonard called him through FaceTime and asked him why his face was so bright. 

\---  

The little girl was small and feeble looking. Her hair was long swept in to a pony tail that protruded out the back of a last season’s _Enterprise_ ball cap. Her skin was dark but pasty, she looked sick the same way all children with cancer do. When she turned to look at him, Jim couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips as she stared up at him. Usually he didn’t like having lots of people around him distracting him from his head space before a big game but he figured that today he could make an exception. Inside the clubhouse members of Thomas’s family stood around talking with players and gazing excitedly at the behind-the-scenes of a professional baseball team. _Enterprise_ had never let a family of a player down into the clubhouse before a game but everyone had agreed that Lucille couldn’t stay the entire game and had to see everything before the game instead of after. Though there were lots of extra people around, Jim only had eyes for one little girl.  

"Hi there," Jim said getting down on one knee to be at eye level. "What's your name?" 

He knew her name but the way she blushed at him hiking her shoulders up and giggling he figured it was a good thing he'd asked. Harwood's wife was right in saying the girl had a little bit of a crush on him. 

"Lucille," she whispered hand on her mouth to hide her wide smile. Her other hand held a new baseball clutched tight. Jim didn't even have trouble opening his mouth to laugh letting her excitement wash over him. Lucille took her hand away from her mouth to play with her _Enterprise_ t-shirt that was a size too big. She looked at him sheepishly as if she wanted to ask for something but couldn't get the words right. Jim took one of her small hands into his large one. "Is there something you wanted, sweetheart?" 

She nodded vigorously, eyes wide but still slightly bashful. Jim didn't notice as a hush settled over the clubhouse. "C-can you sign my ball?" 

"I sure can," Jim took the ball from her the grabbed a pen that was outstretched to him by Lucille's mother. He scribed his name in sharpie on the ball then added a little heart at the end just because he knew she'd love it. All the while Lucille wouldn't take her eyes off him, mesmerized by his script. Jim looked up at her wishing there was something else he could do. It broke his heart seeing the wonder in her deep brown eyes. A child that was so sick but so full of life even after everything that has been thrown at her. 

"I'll tell you what," Jim said after handing the ball back. He stood up to the top of his cubby to grab his ball cap he wore every game. Setting back down at his knee he held it out to her. "This is my favorite cap. I wear it every game. It's lucky. Like, super duper lucky. I always pitch strikes when I wear it." Off to the side there was a little scoff which sounded suspiciously like Scotty and Jim ignored. "I want you to have it." 

"Really?" She breathed eyes so wide Jim thought he would get lost him them. He nodded grinning at her and she almost squeaked. 

"Can I put it on you?" 

Lucille nodded her head fast almost dislodging the cap she already had on and Jim chuckled again. He lightly brought his hands up to take her hat off and guide her hair out of the way. He kept his eyes trained on her face ignoring the bald spot on the crown of her head from her sickness and slid his hat into place. 

"It's a little dirty but it's my favorite-"

"I love it," she whispered tears in her eyes. Lucille jutted forward surprising Jim as she encased him in a hug. Her little arms only reached partway around his body but Jim made up for it by holding her close blinking away his own tears that threatened his eyes. He positioned his head close to her ears and whispered softly, for her ears only. 

"I'm rooting for you, Lucille." 

Then he drew back slowly pressing a kiss to her cheek as he did. She gasped bringing her tiny fingers to the spot to caress softly. 

"I'm rooting for you too, Jim." She beamed brightly at him and Jim couldn’t stop the tears from reaching his eyes. She turned to look at her mother and Thomas and held up the ball. 

"Daddy! Mommy! Look, look, look!"

That night, Lucille threw out the first pitch – a strike, even if it did bounce over home plate. Jim, warmth still encasing his heart, threw an almost perfect game and _Enterprise_ left the field with a win in the books knowing that somewhere out there was a happy little girl cheering from her hospital room.

 


	11. Where We Go From Here

The table Jim slammed into was hard against his back. He grunted loudly and Leonard pulled away leaving Jim with kiss swollen lips and an aching back. 

"You okay?" Leonard asked with worried eyes. Jim chuckled grabbing at the older man's collar to bring him back into his arms. "I'm a tough guy, remember?"

"You’re a child," Leonard said voice like gravel as he brought his lips back down against Jim's. He licked the seam of the blond’s plump lips before diving back into his warm mouth. Jim, for his part, surrendered his tongue and wrapped his arms around Leonard's broad shoulders, hugging him close. Swiftly Leonard slid his warm hands under Jim's t-shirt and rubbed circles on his back barely catching the skin with his nails. Jim shivered before placing his hands on the kitchen table behind him and hiking up to sit and allow Leonard to settle between his legs. Leonard gasped scratching Jim's back making the younger man moan. Leonard detached from Jim's lips only to make his way down his throat licking and sucking at every inch of skin he could get his mouth on. Jim felt his eyes roll to the back on his head as Leonard hit a spot that drove him crazy. He was just about to grab at Leonard jeans when a knock sounded loudly at the door causing Jim to jump. 

Leonard took one final suck on Jim's tanned collarbone then stepped away grinning like a fool. "That must be dinner."

"Ignore it," Jim whispered trying to bring the man back into his space gripping him with his strong legs. Leonard laughed shaking his head but pecked him on the mouth one more time. 

"Gotta feed my little ball player. Don't want coach thinking I'm starvin' ya." He detatched himself from Jim’s legs then walked away leaving Jim sitting on Leonard's expensive wooden table and feeling debauched. 

While Leonard answered the door and payed for the pizza Jim got his first real look at the penthouse apartment Leonard owned. It was nice, of course, with steel kitchen supplies and sleek countertops. Everything was clean in the way that screamed professional cleaning crew but the place also just smelled like Leonard. From what he could see of the living room it looked nice with a big television and two leather couches. There were doors off to either side of Jim, probably a bedroom or two. Wall to ceiling windows surrounded the kitchen into the living room showing off the beautiful city underneath that was just starting to turn on lights and the sun sunk from view. The place was large and nice but also comfortable and Jim liked that part the most. 

By the time Leonard came back into the kitchen holding a box of pizza Jim had already scoured the place for plates but found none and settled for stealing a beer from the refrigerator and sipping on it. Leonard looked at him and rolled his eyes before opening a cabinet Jim had already checked and grabbed two plates. 

"Let’s watch a movie and eat?" He asked to which Jim nodded. "Grab me a beer too." 

An hour later the movie they were watching was just getting into the clichéd climax and the pizza was just about done. The two had spoken some to each other but not much as they watched and ate and drank two beers a piece. After placing both empty plates on the table in front of them Leonard leaned back grabbing to hold Jim's hand. Jim felt his face flush. It had been a long time since someone had held his hand so innocently. Jim settled himself to lean heavily against Leonard's shoulder snuggling close. He felt content as the movie went on. His eyes started getting heavier and heavier until he let them slowly close just for a second... 

"Jim... Jim..." a soft sound awoke him with a pat to the back on his arm. Jim opened his eyes confused and bleary eyed for a second before remembering he was in Leonard's apartment and they were on a date and he'd... he'd just fallen asleep. 

"Oh my god!" Jim jumped away from Leonard instantly awake. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I felt asleep didn't I? Fuck."

He went to stand up but Leonard grabbed onto his shoulders bringing him back down. The older men was laughing looking sleepy himself, “It okay, I fel asleep too. Must be the late games. If only there was some pitcher who would clean it up in less than eleven innings.”

Jim piffed at Leonard settling back down. “You know it’s not as easy as it looks.”

“Even a child can throw a ball, Jim.’

“Not in the Majors!” Jim squawked back defensively. “And I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve, just gotta get Scotty to trust me enough to use ‘em.”

“Whatever you say, Rookie,” Leonard sighed as he stood up. “Stay the night?”

Jim looked at the digital clock under Leonard television reading the late - or should he say early morning time. Well, he figured, it wouldn't make much sense driving home now. 

“I’d like that.”

With a hand held out Leonard helped Jim from the couch and led him into the bedroom that Leonard had showed him earlier during his tour of the nice penthouse apartment. The bed was big with a fluffy black comforter and plump pillows that called Jim’s name. He didn't realize how exhausted he actually was. The last week facing back to back games in two different cities was really getting to him. Leonard moved over to the dark stained drawers grabbing a t-shirt out and throwing it at Jim who caught it deftly. 

“Bathroom’s right in there, you can go first. I don’t care if you use my toothbrush, I figured if you got anything than I do too by now.” He smirked over his shoulder grabbing another raggedy shirt from the drawer. Jim rolled his eyes taking steps towards the bathroom. He finished his business and partook in using Leonard's toothbrush then padded back out to the bedroom. As he entered the room he noticed Leonard had his back to him with his shirt balled in one hand as he played with something on his phone in front of the dresser. Jim took a second to admire the strong broad shoulders of the older man. His skin was smooth if a little freckled. Jim raked his eyes over his back for a long second before finally speaking. 

"Bathrooms free."

Leonard turned and Jim's eyes grew comically as he spied the tattoo pained over Leonard's chest right on his heart. Leonard looked down at his own chest as Jim continued to stare then he chuckled opening his arms to give Jim a better look. The younger man took a few steps forward reaching out to touch the lines of ink beautifully etched over Leonard's heart. It was dark and shaded and must've taken hours to get done. Jim placed his hand and the anatomically correct tattoo of ribs caging a heart. Jim could see every small detail. As Leonard breathed the heart moved so lifelike almost as if it were real. The ribs were shaded with their own detail that Jim felt like he was looking right into Leonard's chest. 

"Wow," Jim breathed feeling slightly surprised when he felt the tattoo and it was Leonard's smooth warm skin. 

"You like it?" Leonard ask softly. Jim looked at him biting his lip red. 

"It's beautiful." 

Leonard laughed. "Beautiful? C'mon Jim that's kinda emasculating." 

Jim threw his head back in a laugh stepping back from Leonard's breathing space. As he made his way to the bed he asked, "What's it for?"

Leonard shrugged going into the bathroom and yelled, "I'm a doctor or at least I was one when I got the tattoo. Bones and hearts and ligaments and arteries always interested me. Thought it was cool when I was younger. My mamma said I was her little sawbones when I graduated from medical school so I got it."

Laying down Jim sighed as his head hit the pillow. It really was as soft as it looked. A word caught Jim's attention. "Sawbones?"

Leonard slid into the bed as if he did so with Jim every night. There was no awkwardness in his movements as he made himself comfortable next to Jim. "Yeah you know, old time doctors who would just cut off whatever didn't work. Fuckin' idiots if you ask me." 

Jim maneuvered himself around until his head rested on Leonard's shoulder after he had reached over to switch the lights off. He placed his hand on Leonard's chest to softly trace the detailed tattoo with his finger. 

"Sawbones... I like it," he yawned. 

"Go to bed kid." Leonard smiled at the blond man in his arms. Jim closed his eyes feeling himself start to fade, exhaustion pulling him under. 

"Hmm okay. Goodnight Bones."

Leonard rolled his eyes and shook his head but smiled and held Jim tighter, "Goodnight Rook."

* * *

The next practice was a wet one. Rain had poured down right before the team had been scheduled to take the field so instead of playing infield Pike had everyone in the outfield grass. Jim stood in wet cleats with a damp glove feeling miserable trying to breath in the thick post-rainstorm air. After a few minutes he noticed someone singing behind him. 

"Spock, is that... are you singing?" Jim caught a ball that had been hit to him towards the dugout where players were practicing bunting before placing his right hand on his hip cocking it to the side. Spock turned to him eyebrow raised then went back to his throw and catch with Sulu on the other end of the field. Jim stood guarding the older man from any balls hit to this side of the grassy outfield. So far he hadn't had to catch very many baseballs before they collided with Spock's head, the batters were good at aiming away from their fellow teammates. Jim liked being in the outfield, shooting the shit with the outfielders and pretending that this was his position. The entire stadium looked different from back here. Less all-consuming and more picturesque. 

It was a hot and muggy day. The tall buildings of San Francisco could barely be seen through the fog that blanketed the city. All of the players wore their dry fit shirts and shorts, no pants in sight. Jim had been standing beside Spock for almost an hour trying to bring him to conversation and when that failed just speaking out loud anything that came to mind. It had earned him a few brow raises, a “Dont worry Jim, you’re growin’ on him!” yelled from Sulu and even an eye roll from Spock but the black haired man just didn't want to talk with him. That was until Jim had heard a sound fill the afternoon air. It was soft, a deep baritone. It was humming. Spock, Jim realized, was humming. 

"I am doing no such thing," Spock dove for a ball Sulu intentionally let fly too far to the left. 

"Yes you are! You're totally singing, man." Jim couldn't help himself. Spock? Singing to himself in the outfield? Was this what he did during games when he was too far out to be picked up by the cameras microphone or heard by the dugout? This was priceless. 

A ball came bouncing over Jim's way, he retrieved it to throw back. 

"If I were singing it would most likely be a song my mother used to sing when I was a child," Spock admitted bending over in a ready stance for Sulu's next throw. That shut Jim right up. 

Jim closed his eyes shaking his head and called himself an idiot. At this rate he'd never get the raven haired man to like him much less be friends with him. "Shit, Spock. I'm sorry man. You do you."  

The humming-slash-light singing continued and Jim let it lull him into a nice little trance. 

That was, until it hit him why the song sounded so familiar. 

"Bullshit! You're singing Adele!" He couldn't stop the chortle from escaping his mouth.  

Spock grounded a ball, threw it back then took his glove off to wipe his hand on his trousers. 

"Spock, you little shit." 

"I have no comment on the matter." 

Jim thought he saw the tiniest of smirks touch the side of his lips. Spock turned back to his practice and Jim was interrupted by Pike’s loud voice, “Pitchers front and center! Everyone else clear it. Squads get ready. Going to get a quick drag and water before we enter inner squad!”

"Looks like we'll have to continue this conversation at a later date," Spock rumbled when Jim took his leave. Jim turned just enough to show Spock his middle finger with a good natured smirk. Spock waved him off as he ran the other direction towards the other outfielders. 

Jim jogged over to the gathering pitchers beside the dugout. Kevin Reilly stood among them talking as they waited for their drills to begin. “Ah good Jim’s here,” he started bumping Mitchell on the shoulder while looking at Jim, “We needed to resume our argument of who is a better athlete me or him?”

Jim rolled his eyes spitting to get some of the moisture out of his mouth from the humid air, “It’s not even an argument!”

Kevin leaned against the hip-high fence of the dugout while Jim walked over to him. He flicked Jim’s arm in greeting, “Because I am the more athletic one, I know.” Kevin then stuck up his arm to flex under his dry fit. Jim sighed dramatically but laughed as the pitchers around him laughed as well.

“I’m sorry,” Gary said, “but could you but those twigs away? There’s a strong wind coming through and I don’t want them to break off.” The pitchers howled with laughter as Kevin grabbed his chest in mock hurt and glared at Gary before laughing himself. Soon, after a few more jabs at everyone, Scotty came over to separate the guys for different drills. Jim was told to go back to the bullpen to work on his curve ball.

“My curve is fine, Scotty.”

“Are you arguin’ with me? Do ya want ta run laps?”

Jim smiled at Scotty patting him on the back, “Now that I think about it, I could make it a little more curvy.” Then he ran off before Scotty could say anything else.

By the time practice ended, Jim was covered in sweat but feeling well accomplished as Scotty had come over to give him some tricks to perfect his curve. Walking quickly back into the clubhouse, Jim was thinking about if he could squeeze in a quick run to Leonard’s apartment to say hello before going home to get an early night’s rest before the game tomorrow. He made his way into the alley and towards the clubhouse alone as everyone else had already called it a day and was most likely showering or eating some of the spread from Uhura in the locker room. Jim starting thinking about Leonard’s tattoo again as he turned the corner to open the door into the clubhouse and standing there was just the man that was on his mind.

“Hey!” Jim greeted happily. If Leonard looked a bit nervous, Jim didn’t notice. He was too busy wanting to get out of his wet clothes and into some dry ones. Leonard opened his mouth to say something but Jim cut him off thinking he was just going to invite him to come over to his apartment after practice as he had done a few times before. “Hold on, I’ll just be a minute and we can head out. Don’t worry, I’ll hurry!”

“Jim-” was all Leonard could get out before Jim disappeared quickly into the teams club house. Leonard felt sick to his stomach as he rubbed his forehead. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Leonard opened up the door and fast-walked inside feeling dread bubble up into his throat. He turned the corner seeing Jim’s back ramrod straight as he stood just inside the clubhouse. Every player in the room was silent as they stared up at the multiple television screens showing _Sports Center Live_. Leonard came up behind Jim seeing his shoulders start to shake as his eyes stayed glued, just as everyone’s were, to the screens. Leonard swallowed already having heard the news.

“ _This is honestly quite shocking, don’t you agree Dan?_ ” came a fine-pressed anchor woman who stood behind the desk with _Sports Center_ written in big bold letters across the front. She was pretty but wore too much make-up. The man across from her nodded in his sports coat.

“ _It is one of the biggest trades of the season,_ ” the man commented. “ _The_ Romulans _has fired their manager not hours ago and has already brought up their minor league manager Nero Varner which, as you know Janette, just isn’t done at this level of baseball. Decisions like this usually take months to go through, not hours. And on top of that the_ Las Vegas Vengeance _has completed a trade with_ Romulans _as they have sent Ayel over to the desert in exchange they’ve gotten John Harrison. How could_ Vengeance _give up an overall first round pick for a-a-an underachieving outfielder?_ ”

“ _Now I will say that there has been rumors of a possible change of staff for the_ Romulans _as their past three seasons have been less than ideal with only making it to the first round of the playoff’s two seasons ago,”_ commented the woman. “ _This is huge for_ Romulus _. I mean a trade like this and bringing up one of the most controversial coaches this late in the season could either mean a much needed break for the struggling organization or it could create more problems. As we know both Nero and John Harrison are both quite successful in their respective roles however they are also both known agitators_.”

The man nodded shuffling his papers, Leonard looked at Jim who had gone white. His forehead was wet with sweat even in the cool room. “ _We all know the problems Harrison has had with_ Vengeance _and their team manager Alexander Marcus and it is easy to see how that drama has affected his playing career as his batting average has gone down through the course of the last two seasons. Janette, because I know you covered the story a few seasons ago, can you speak on Nero and the challenges he’s faced with both the league and other players_?”

“ _Sure Dan_ ,” the woman turned so she faced the camera fully. Behind her footage played and suddenly Leonard saw a still picture of Jim standing on a pitching mound on the large flat screen television. Jim looked younger and wore a different jersey on his back as an umpire, Nero and the Iowa City coach stood around him. The picture started playing footage from the game as the woman spoke. “ _We all remember the infamous confrontation during the game between_ Iowa City _and the_ Miner’s _a few years ago where Nero got into a scuffle with known bad boy Iowa City Pitcher Jim Kirk after accusing him of cheating and_ -”

Leonard didn’t hear anything else as suddenly Jim sprang away from him kicking off his cleats, peeling off his shirt and leaving them where they lay. He grabbed his bag, shoes and a t-shirt and was off. The few guys left in the room watched him go, silently. The door slammed behind Jim as he left the clubhouse. The noise made Leonard jump. The sports broadcast finished the video with Jim, nose bloodied, being escorted off the field then it went to commercial. Leonard looked at the closed door for only a second before rushing towards it, down the hallway and out into the stadium. He knew the _Romulans_ had been planning on firing their coach and bringing up Nero for a while but he had thought they had more time.

He saw Jim’s back as he turned the corner.

“Jim!” he yelled jogging over to the younger man but Jim didn’t stop, he kept walking out of the stadium and into the sidewalk that wrapped around the stadium. Rain started falling from the sky dripping on both of them. Jim had managed to wrestle on his shirt but was still shoeless and didn’t seem to care. As Leonard grew closer he grabbed ahold of his arm. “Jim.”

“Leave me alone, Bones,” Jim shrugged out of the man’s hand. “I don’t want to talk.”

“An you don’t have to,” Leonard placated feeling rain drip into his mouth and his shirt start to stick to his back as the rain grew harder. “Is your car around-”

“I walked,” Jim didn’t turn around or look up from the spot he was staring at on the cement ground. Leonard licked his lips. It started to pour thick globs of rain drenching the both of them.

“Let me give you a ride home,” Leonard said. Jim turned to him, eyes bigger and more filled with a mixture of anger and sadness than he had ever seen.

“Bones-”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Leonard had to yell over the rain. “If you walk home in this you’re going to get sick and what is that going to mean for our games this week or-”

“Fine!” Jim yelled back crossing his arms with his shoes still in one hand. “Take me home, I don’t care just get me the fuck out of here.”

Leonard led them both to an overhang and pulled out his cell phone. He could feel Jim shaking and didn’t think it was from the rain. It only took a few minutes for his driver to pull around with his car. Jim didn’t say a word as they waited or even as he slid in the car. Leonard didn’t say anything about how they were both dripping all over his expensive leather seats. Jim stared out the side window until they pulled up to his apartment building. He went to open the door and get out when Leonard put a hand on his shoulder stopping him.

“Jim,” he began. “Listen I-I… I’m sorry.”

“You knew.”

Leonard nodded. Jim lay back against the seat looking tired and small. Rain pelted the top of the car. The driver, one that Leonard had known for a long time and trusted deeply, busied himself up front pretending not to be listening. Leonard took hold of Jim’s slack hand and was only a little surprised when Jim didn’t automatically take his hand back.

“Pike and I heard through our channels that the _Romulans_ were having some problems and they were thinking about bringing Nero up but it wasn’t supposed to be for a month or so. We’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you. I’m sorry Jim.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jim said dully, tears gathering in his eyes. He gave a pitying laugh. “It’s actually my fault.”

“Now don’t start with that you know-”

“Bones,” Jim interrupted shaking his head and closing his eyes. A tear fell down his still rain soaked face. His voice sounded weak, “I think I need to go lay down.”

Leonard nodded in understanding, “Do you want me to come up with you?”

Jim’s eyes practically screamed yes so Leonard was surprised when Jim whispered, “No.”

Before he could say anything more Jim had the door open and was saying goodbye over his shoulder, closing the car door behind him. Leonard watched as he made his way through the rain and up the steps to his apartment building. Jim didn’t even look back when he went inside.

“Home, sir?” asked Leonard’s driver. Leonard sighed loudly rubbing his hands roughly through his hair. He was about to say yes when he looked down to see Jim’s shoes still on the floor of his car. It only took a few seconds to decide and Leonard was grabbing the shoes, opening the door and said, “If I’m not back in fifteen minutes you can head home, Jacob.”

Running through the rain and up the steps, Leonard made his way inside. After a quick talk with the woman at the front desk in the lobby he got Jim’s room number and was over to the elevator and headed up to his floor. It took a few minutes of counting off room numbers until he finally found Jim’s apartment. He tried the handle sending up a silent thank you when he found that it was unlocked. He made his way inside barely noticing the clean apartment and headed right towards where he assumed Jim’s bedroom was. Sure enough as he entered the room he saw a lump covered in blankets laying in the large bed. Leonard toed off his shoes and shed his jacket before silently slipping into the bed.

“Bones,” Jim sniffled obviously crying as Leonard put his arms around him and brought him close. They were both still damp from the rain. “What am I going to do?”

Leonard forced the younger man to turn and maneuvered him onto his chest. He reached under his shirt to rub soothing circles into his back.

“I don’t know.” He admitted. Jim rubbed his head back and forth. He choked out a sob. Leonard grabbed Jim’s chin lghtly and forced him to look at him. “But whatever happens we are going to go through it together. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’m right here. Okay?”

Jim looked at him, really truly looked at him for a moment. He nodded once then twice and said, “Yeah… okay.”

“Relax, kid. I got ya,” he pulled Jim impossibly closer trying to make the younger man feel his love and affection through his touch. “You’re gonna be okay and everything is gonna work out fine but for now just relax.”

Jim nodded feeling drained and closed his eyes. The warmth radiating from Leonard stopped the chill that had taken root deep inside his chest.

“Thanks, Bones.”

Leonard didn’t say anything as he continued rubbing Jim’s back and thinking about where they were going to go from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/comments are super appreciated!


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